


No Looking Back

by Anna (adoring_audience)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 119,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoring_audience/pseuds/Anna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon based story, starting immediately after 513. While Justin is in New York, a tragedy strikes that challenges both, Brian and Justin, in a way that they haven’t faced before and they are forced to find ways to keep their relationship going.</p><div class="center">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p> </p>
    <p>    <a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/adoringaudience/pic/000xx3sk">
      <img/></a><br/></p>
  </div>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Prologue**

  
  
Brian’s POV  
  
  
What a crazy thought!  
  
I had watched him fuck countless men, with or without him knowing I was there. I had watched him being fucked by other men – a parade of tricks that knelt before him to worship his cock. And, maybe not as many but still an impressive number of men, that were brought to their proverbial knees by his talented tongue and full pouty lips.  
  
And it never bothered me. Have I been fooling myself this whole time? Because suddenly the thought of him being kissed, stroked, touched, caressed, looked at by someone else – someone other than me – made the bile rise to my throat.  
  
I was okay with him leaving for New York; it wouldn’t be the end. This I had made sure of. And I had made a promise to myself: I’d do everything I could not to push him away. No matter what people were going to say, no matter how many smirks I had to endure, or how many people whispered gossip behind my back. He would never leave me again; at least not because I failed to give him something he needed or craved.  
  
Justin leaving for New York had as much to do with him figuring out which path to follow as it had with us knowing that something as small as a few hundred miles in between us would never hold any power over us. Me not wanting (or maybe not able) to let go of his smaller frame that I clutched to as we stood in the entrance area of the loft with his bags beside him, had nothing to do with insecurity or doubts, and everything to do with one tiny little word that I had successfully steered away from for the last couple of decades:  
  
Jealousy.  
  
He was mine! As retrograde and primitive as it sounded, he belonged to me! Pittsburgh, for all its questionable glory, held one trump card over New York: No fag in the good old ‘burgh would ever cross certain lines unless they were weary of life. They knew (or were made to understand) that Justin was taken and learned to enjoy the pleasure and very short time of attention he was bestowing upon them – or upon certain anatomical parts of them, to be more precise. New York however was another, and infinitely larger, pond with correspondingly bigger fish. None of which I wanted to lay their dirty hands on the way too trusting and candid blond.  
  
And since Brian Kinney never asks for anything, except for said blond to marry him – twice – I developed an intricate plan of sheer genius to make sure that he’d forever remain mine. The first stage was already set in motion. All I had to do was wait.  
  
  
Justin’s POV  
  
  
I pulled the knapsack onto my knees as soon as the seatbelt lights were switched off. It was a late flight, and most people in the first class – Brian’s (for the time being) last gift – dozed off or tried to relax after a stressful day. I fished around for my sketch pad and carbon pencil, itching to draw the clear and defined lines of Brian’s back as long as they were still fresh on my mind; as long as I still had his scent on me, reminding me of his beautiful lean form stretched out across the loft’s bed.  
  
Flipping open the book to a fresh page, I found something lodged between the sheets of paper: An envelope. I ripped it open and pulled out what appeared to be a plane ticket.   
  
New York – Pittsburgh.   
August, 19th.   
  
Exactly three months from today. On it a yellow sticky note with Brian’s neat handwriting:  


 

  
_You._  
 _Me._  
 _And nothing in between us._

 

I was instantly hard, the voice in my head screaming ‘OH MY GOD’ in Dolby surround sound. I started counting frantically... 92 more days to go.

  
  
  


 

**Chapter One  
**

  
  
Even years after, there would still be times when he would stumble upon something that triggered a memory, and he would think back to this one day, and his heart would give a painful stab, so intense he’d have to pause for a moment to catch his breath again.  
  
Brian walked into the conference room, feeling slightly uneasy. He straightened his tie, checked to make sure the boards were all lined up perfectly, adjusted the drinking glasses on the tray with beverages that Cynthia had refilled earlier. They were ready. Brian let his eyes stray over the papers that outlined the campaign he and one of his account executives had come up with – impeccable. The client would be a moron not to hire Kinnetik. And even though he knew from experience that, unfortunately, the world wasn’t devoid of those, it was not what was making his guts clench. Brian squirmed in his seat at the top of the table, not liking the feeling of dread rapidly settling over him. Glancing at his watch and, realizing he still had twenty minutes until the client was due to come in, he rose from his chair and made his way over to the art department.  
  
As usual, the approaching CEO made the atmosphere in the large studio-like wing of the building buzz with nervousness at potential reprimands. Brian walked from booth to booth, from table to table, checking on current projects in various stages of completion. Supplying a suggestion on color or font, he couldn’t detect any major fuck-ups and was forced to leave without being able to vent some of his inexplicable inner turmoil. A sudden thought grazed his preoccupied mind and he hurried to a somewhat secluded corner for privacy. Pulling out his mobile phone from an inside pocket, he dialed Mel and Lindsay’s number in Canada. He was almost about to close the phone when the call was finally picked up.  
  
A noticeably breathless Lindsay answered on the other end of the line, “Hello?”  
  
“What’s going on? Has something happened?” Brian asked, not bothering with a greeting and bracing himself internally for the answer.  
  
“Brian? That’s an odd time for you to call,” Lindsay replied instead of an answer.  
  
“Where’s Gus?” Brian knew he was being rude but, right then, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
“Brian, don’t freak out, okay? Everything’s fine. We just had a minor accident,” Lindsay tried to calm him.  
  
“Define ‘accident’ and how minor is ‘minor’?” Brian gritted out between tightly clenched teeth.  
  
“You remember how I’d told you the upper banister had a few loose posts that needed fixing? Well, Gus threw a major fit because he didn’t want to get dressed this morning and didn’t hear when I told him to be careful. He ran away from me and up the stairs and when I followed, he stumbled and fell against the banister which gave. He…” she paused for a moment before continuing, “he fell and we had to take him to the emergency room.”  
  
Brian listened, lips pressed together so tightly, all color drained from them.  
  
“It’s nothing too serious,” Lindsay hurried to appease him. “He has one cracked rib and a sprained wrist. He’ll be okay in a couple of weeks. Brian, how did you even know that something was wrong?”  
  
“Nothing too serious?!” Brian threw her words back at her in a sneering voice. “Is that a bad joke?” And, completely ignoring her question, he continued, “You told me about the banister weeks ago. Why hasn’t it been repaired yet? I remember telling Cynthia to send you a check for the repair costs. Didn’t you get one?”  
  
“Yes, Brian, we did get it. However, there were more pressing matters at that time that needed to be taken care of first,” Lindsay tried to explain.  
  
“More pressing than the children’s safety?” Brian asked incredulously.  
  
“Brian…” Lindsay tried in that placating voice of hers but Brian was having none of that.  
  
“Don’t Brian me,” he exploded. “Let me talk to Gus!”  
  
She hesitated and cleared her throat.  
  
“What?” Brian barked.  
  
“He’s been given a sedative and is sleeping right now.”  
  
“I want you to call me as soon as he wakes up,” Brian’s tone allowed for no protests.  
  
“I will,” Lindsay relented in a small voice.  
  
“Fuck!” Brian muttered quietly after disconnecting the call and shutting his phone. He concentrated on breathing deeply through his nose for a few minutes in an attempt to get a reign over his emotions. The feeling in his gut wouldn’t subside. Brian blamed it on his anger at Lindsay and concern for Gus’ wellbeing. Rubbing his face with his hands vigorously and straightening his shoulders, he walked over to Cynthia’s desk, mentally going over and rearranging his schedule for the rest of the week to squeeze in a visit to the lesbian paradise.  
  
“Cynthia, find a carpenter in Toronto and have him call Mel and Linds to make an appointment for some repair work around the house, ASAP. Have him tell you a cost estimate, then fill out this check for double the amount and send it over to the munchers,” Brian ordered, quickly signing a blank check. “And make sure to clear my schedule for the rest of the week.”  
  
“Bri, where have you been? I’ve been searching all over the place for you,” Cynthia exclaimed in agitation. “You got two calls. First a man named Vasili or something like that; the last name was unpronounceable; and the accent barely understandable. I still have no idea what he wanted, but he sounded concerned. And then a girl named,” she glanced at the note in her hand, “Tasha called here fifteen minutes ago and asked for you. She wouldn’t let up until I promised to make you call her. She sounded worried.” Cynthia risked a nervous glance at Brian to gauge his reaction. There was none.  
  
Brian furrowed his brow in concentration. “Who the fuck is she? I don’t know anyone by the name of Tasha.” And he made it a rule not to ask guys for their names – pronounceable or not, he added in his mind. Brian turned to walk away and headed towards the conference room. The client should be here any minute now.  
  
“The girl’s Daphne’s friend… from New York.” Cynthia let the implication hang there, not knowing exactly what this was all about but dreading the worst. “The other number, this Russian guy, was calling from a number with a NYC area code too.”  
  
Brian froze in his steps and turned around quickly. Something in his mind clicked and he recalled a conversation from about four weeks ago, when a New York greenhorn Justin had called Brian in the middle of the night, high on excitement, the big city energy, and the promise of a certain event taking place on August 19 th. Brian had still been in bed, not able to sleep, trying to numb some of his feelings with pot from his private stash. His mind slightly addled by the drugs, he’d let Justin ramble on about everything and nothing; admittedly, not really listening to what he was saying but simply enjoying the sound of the younger man’s voice. Brian thought he could recall the blond mentioning his roommate by name. There was a good chance he had called her Tasha, but Brian wouldn’t have placed a bet on it. However, since his New York connections were limited to past tricks (none of whom would have the audacity to call him and of course were not girls) and current as well as prospective clients (whom Brian made a habit to know the names of, including those of spouses or significant others), it left only a certain blond. Making the connection, the feeling in his gut made itself known once more with an exceptionally painful clench.  
  
He hesitated for a moment and considered if he was overreacting. After a moment he decided to trust his gut and just do what his instinct told him to do. He turned to Cynthia again and asked, “Get me Justin on the phone, please, ASAP?”  
  
A crease appeared between Cynthia’s eyebrows as she found Justin’s number among the saved shortcuts on her desk phone. Brian had said please which meant he was either too distraught to notice or too concerned about something else to care. Either way, something was wrong and Cynthia didn’t like it one bit.  
  
“I get the voicemail only,” she said in Brian’s direction. “Do you want me to leave a message?”  
  
Brian shook his head. “No.” After another moment’s hesitation, Brian asked, “Has that girl, Tasha, said what her call was about?” Brian asked, trying to keep his cool and getting slightly angry at himself when he noticed his hand shake a little as he reached for the note in Cynthia’s hand.  
  
“She didn’t. She refused to tell me anything; only said it was of utmost importance that she gets a hold of you.”  
  
“Thank you. Make sure the money will be on its way today, okay?” Brian added and was about to take off when Cynthia’s voice called him back once more.  
  
“You still want me to cancel your appointments for this week?” Her voice was a little unsure, quite un-Cynthia-like.  
  
Brian nodded once gravely. He wasn’t sure where he would be headed in a while – Canada or New York – but he had an inkling that a trip to see his son would have to wait.  
  
Instead of walking to the conference room as originally intended, Brian swerved and entered his office, walking over to his white leather couch and sitting down. Pulling out his cell phone once again, he dialed the number on the yellow sticky note with shaky fingers and waited for the call to be picked up, trying to block images of worst case the scenarios from his seemingly frozen brain.  
  
After four dial tones, the answering machine picked up and Brian heard a chipper girly voice cracking a joke and telling him to leave a message. “Yes, this is Brian Kinney. You left a message with my assistant to—“  
  
“Brian?!” The same girly voice, though determinedly less chipper, interrupted his speech. “Hi, this is Tasha, Justin’s friend and roommate. We don’t know each other… Well, we haven’t met, but I feel like I know everything about you,” the girl babbled nervously in a fast New York City dialect.  
  
Brian tried to interrupt but found it difficult to get even a syllable in between her fast-paced prattling.  
  
“I’m so glad you called. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I mean, I know he has a mother. But I don’t know anything about her or how to get hold of her. Don’t even know her full name. He’s a 22 year old guy, you know; it’s not like they talk much about their moms at that age. It’d probably be a little creepy if he did, don’t you think? You on the other hand I know every detail about. He really likes to talk, doesn’t he? I never realized how much he actually told me before today. When I couldn’t reach you on the landline, I remembered he told me about your company. So I called information. You have a very bulldog assistant, you know that? She wouldn’t put me through to you.”  
  
Brian squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a headache that had been slowly taking form behind his eyes ever since his talk with Lindsay. He listened to the inane chatter while his stomach and gut steadily turned into something solid and stony.  
  
“Yes, I know. And yes, he does like to talk,” Brian pressed out, hoping to steer the girl’s verbal diarrhea into a direction that would provide him with some information. “Where’s Justin? Why can’t I reach him on his phone? What happened?”  
  
“I’m not exactly sure. I only know what that Polish guy told me. Something about an accident in the gallery where Justin secured a spot in the upcoming show. This guy has a terrible accent; I think I only understood the words ‘accident’ and something that could mean ‘ambulance’.”  
  
Squelching down the bile that threatened to rise to his throat, Brian was about to demand more information but a discreet beeping sound told him he had another incoming call. Holding the phone away from his ear, he glanced at the display quickly, and saw a NYC number and hurried to answer.  
  
“Tasha, I have another call. I’ll have to call you back.” Not waiting for her reply, he switched over to the other line and picked up the call.  
  
“Brian Kinney,” Brian answered stiffly.  
  
“Mr. Kinney, this is Nurse Claudia from the emergency room at the Brooklyn Hospital Center. You’re listed as the emergency contact for one Justin Taylor.”  
  
“I know. Is he seriously hurt? How is he doing?” Brian replied, intending to take a shortcut on the formalities. He wanted the nurse to tell him if Justin was alright.  
  
“He’s been brought in with a trauma to his head. The MRI and X-ray show no signs of lesion or injury. However, Mr. Taylor seems to be experiencing some complications, probably resulting from a former head trauma. I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information over the phone.”  
  
“I’ll get on the next plane to New York but it will take a couple of hours,” Brian answered, scribbling some information on a piece of paper and walking over to his desk to buzz for Cynthia. When she appeared, he slipped her the note he had written and mouthed ‘ASAP’ while pushing her out the door. Cynthia would make sure to book him on the next plane leaving for New York and have a car ready to pick him up. He spoke into the phone, “Tell me if he’s alright. Is he conscious? What are you doing to him?”  
  
“As I already said, there does not seem to be a visible injury or inner bleeding. Mr. Taylor was having a panic attack on admission and we were forced to give him something so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He’s conscious right now but very groggy. He refuses to speak or answer any questions.”  
  
“He can’t speak?” Brian interrupted.  
  
“He can speak, he just refuses to do so,” the nurse clarified. “We asked him if there was someone he wanted us to call, besides the emergency contact, and he shook his head. He’s disoriented. He asked where he was. That’s really the only thing he said and he didn’t like the answer too much. We asked if he could recall the accident but he refused to cooperate. The attending doctor sent for a psychologist. But Mr. Taylor refuses to talk to him as well. The major problem right now is that he won’t let anyone touch him. He goes into a panic as soon as someone tries to examine him or even comes too close. As I explained, we had to sedate him to do the initial examination. You should probably hurry. Maybe seeing a familiar face will help.”  
  
“I’m on my way.” Brian disconnected the call and rushed out of his office to check with Cynthia on the current status.  
  
“The next flight will depart in less than twenty minutes. There’s no chance you will be able to make that one with the time it takes to get to the airport and through security. The next one after that will be in a couple of hours.”  
  
“I don’t have a couple of hours!” Brian barked. “Get some private charter ready. And have them waiting with clearance for takeoff. I want a cab waiting outside in five minutes max. Understood?”  
  
Any other day, Cynthia would not have tolerated Brian speaking to her in such a tone and would have barked a witty reply at him, but seeing Brian on the verge like this, barely holding it together, her heart went out to the man who apparently, yet again, was struck by a tragedy. She didn’t know what happened or if it was going to be alright again, but she got angry on their both account: Weren’t fate or God or the Powers that Be ever going to let those two be?


	2. Chapter 2

Brian returned to his office to pick up his suit jacket and threw the spare shirt and jeans he kept in his ensuite bathroom into his briefcase. His mind was reeling at the news, and he actively tried to block any and all thoughts of what he might encounter once he arrived in New York. Thinking about what happened or could have happened or was yet to happen made his muscles freeze in pure terror. Right now, he had to keep moving. Justin was alone in New York, probably scared out of his mind at being in a hospital once again. He acted brave, but Brian knew that being in an emergency room all alone always gave Justin the shivers. He had seen the inside of too many of them in his life already. Brian didn’t doubt for a second that that was what was making Justin uncooperative and tight-lipped towards the hospital staff.  
  
“Brian,” his intercom buzzed and Cynthia’s tinny voice sounded. “Your cab is here.”  
  
“I’m on my way,” Brian replied, looking the spacious room over once more to check if he forgot anything.  
  
Making his way outside, Brian slipped into the backseat of the waiting cab and gave directions. The vibrations from the inside pocket of his jacket jarred him from the catatonia he was threatening to slip into. He answered the phone.  
  
“Brian?” A hesitant and unsure voice replied his brusque greeting.  
  
“Tasha?”  
  
“Yeah. Did you find out anything?”  
  
Brian heard genuine anguish and concern in her voice and felt slightly guilty for just hanging up on her earlier. Even though she hadn’t known Justin for long, it was obvious that she cared for him. Brian understood. The blond had this quality on people – he grew on them. Brian smiled grimly.  
  
“I talked to one of the nurses in the hospital. They don’t know shit. I’m on my way over there.”  
  
He was about to reassure her that everything would be alright but couldn’t quite manage to utter those senseless words he wouldn’t believe himself before he knew exactly what was going on.  
  
“I just went over to the gallery to talk with this Czech guy,” Tasha continued their conversation. “I can assure you, he’s not easier to understand in person than he is on the phone.”  
  
“What did he tell you?” Brian asked nervously.  
  
“That Justin came over to see how the preparations for the exhibit were going. He offered to help with hanging some of the pieces. I think he hopes to maybe get a job there, in the gallery. He works at this shitty café on the corner of our street, but you can’t get far on a waiter’s salary here.”  
  
“What else?” Brian prompted, hoping to bring Tasha back on track.  
  
“Oh yeah, apparently he fell from a ladder. This Ukrainian guy said he slipped. This guy is a sleaze, I’m telling you, Brian. He was more concerned with the gallery not being sued than he was with Justin’s condition. He said Justin seemed alright; he got up on his feet and everything. But when this Vlad-something asked him if he was okay, Justin didn’t answer. He rubbed his head. It seems as if he hit it on his way down.”  
  
“Yeah, the nurse told me that he sustained another head injury.” Brian asked, his breathing increased in pace again just thinking about the news he’d gotten from the nurse on call.  
  
“ _Another_? That’s exactly the same thing his doctor jumped at after he read his medical file. What is it about his head? I don’t like to be kept in the dark here and I’m getting a strong suspicion Justin’s not telling me everything.”  
  
“The doctor??” Brian exclaimed, interrupting her.  
  
“Oh, yeah, I went by the hospital also. Didn’t I tell you?”  
  
“No,” Brian growled menacingly low.  
  
Brian almost heard her shrug when Tasha answered, “Ugh, doesn’t matter. They didn’t tell me much. You know, the gallery is only a couple of blocks from a hospital, so I walked to the emergency room, figuring it was the one where they’d have taken him. This stupid guy in the gallery didn’t even bother finding out!” Tasha added indignantly. “I didn’t see Justin. They wouldn’t let me. But I made nice with one of the nurses. She wasn’t working his case, so she didn’t know much, but she told me that he was completely freaking out by the time the EMTs arrived with him. They had to strap him down. He was in a panic or something like that. And when the doctors and nurses took over, apparently they tried to calm him but he started thrashing around, wouldn’t let anyone touch him. They had to give him a sedative. I gave them his messenger bag because I know he has information in there about his allergies and stuff and because the pretentious prick from the gallery didn’t even think about it. Justin told me he was allergic to a lot of things. So I just handed the bag over to the nurse. But as I said, the hospital refused to release any information about him to me since I’m not a family member. Though I did try to tell them I’m his sister. I don’t think they believed me. And that’s when I saw another nurse handing a fax of his file over to the doctor and he was all ‘His head? Again?’ and it did sound serious. So I thought I better get back home and call you,” she finally finished.  
  
Brian didn’t think she even took a breath once while recounting the story. Realizing, he also forgot to breathe while listening to her quivering voice, he took a gulp of air and thanked her. A silence stretched between the two of them and Brian figured she wasn’t ready to be on her own just yet. While he was still searching his head for something to say, she picked up the conversation again.  
  
“You know, he gave me two of his paintings?”  
  
“He did?” Brian asked, less out of a genuine interest than because he wanted her to keep talking. The voice was strangely soothing and filled the void of the separated compartment in the limousine as well as kept his own thoughts at bay.  
  
“Yeah, we had talked about our apartment. It’s fucking small and unbelievably ugly. And he always goes on about how you’re gonna flip when you see the shithole he’s living in. So I suggested sprucing it up with a few of his pictures. The ones he didn’t deem worthy of making it into his portfolio. Though, honestly, I think they’re fab. But what do I know – I don’t know shit about art. But I love listening to him when he talks about it.”  
  
Brian nodded, even though he was aware that she couldn’t see him.   
  
“Anyway, when he actually came home carrying two of his recent works, saying we could put them up in the living room, I squealed like a pig. He said I could keep them. I just know he’s gonna be famous one day and I’ll be able to say I own two Justin Taylor originals. How cool is that?! So, yeah, we got some tools from the neighbor next door and he got up on a chair to drive a nail in the wall but I guess he miscalculated or whatever. Suddenly he went all stiff, totally freezing up. He had brought the hammer down on his thumb. And I started laughing, saying gays should never handle tools unless they’re lesbians. But he didn’t laugh back, not that it was a great joke to make. So I asked him if he’s alright. Next thing I know he’s swearing louder than I’ve ever heard anyone swear. And very creatively, too.”  
  
She sighed as Brian continued to listen.  
  
“Okay, not a funny story. I know. But you should have been there,” she eventually said with a wistful tone to her voice that made Brian frown. It felt like they were talking about Justin as if he were already gone. Suddenly, the whole talk became too much for him and Brian made up the excuse of arriving at the airport and needing to switch off his phone before disconnecting. But not before making sure that she would be alright, this time.  
  
After hanging up, Brian sat motionless, his sight directed outside the window onto the passing scenery, without seeing anything at all. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t close off his mind to the memories of the last four weeks.  


<>>>><<<<>

  
“Brian, it’s totally true what they say – this city doesn’t ever sleep. Last night, after my shift, I stayed in the coffee shop. I wanted to draw the street outside the corner window and the evening was kinda slow patron-wise, so Jeremy, this guy who is working the night shift, and I got into a conversation and he wanted to know what clubs I usually frequent. He’s not a New York native, but he’s been living here for the last six years, so he knows his way around. I told him I haven’t had the time yet to go out a lot. He offered to show me the clubs, says he can get in anywhere because he knows people.”  
  
“He was hitting on you, Sunshine.”  
  
“Please, I’ve been hit on hundreds of thousands of times before. Don’t you think I know when someone is hitting on me? Of course, he was. But I told him I wasn’t interested,” Justin shrugged off casually before continuing excitedly.  
  
“That must have gone down well,” Brian muttered under his breath. They’d never openly talked about Brian’s intention which he, so out of character, expressed on a post-it note stuck to a plane ticket. 

 

<>>>><<<<>

  
Brian remembered another conversation they’d had over the phone. When Justin had called the loft’s number a few hours after arriving in New York, he had gushed about the plane ride, how excited he was about being there, told Brian about his quirky roommate, and a million other things that Brian had barely paid attention to; partly due to the two XXL-sized joints he had consumed after Justin’s departure and partly because he had been anxiously waiting for a sign that Justin had found his surprise. Brian had almost convinced himself that Justin hadn’t yet discovered the plane ticket à la surprise, when Justin had closed his rambles with a sigh.  
  
“So anyway, I hope when I come home in three months and see the family again, I’ll have something to show them. Hopefully something better than a waiter’s job in some diner that Daphne’s friend managed to get me,” he had said.  
  
Brian had smiled at that and answered, “What makes you think you’ll get to see the family at all? I call dibs on your undivided attention.” He could almost feel the warmth of the Sunshine smile all over the phone line. Three months would fly by faster than both of them expected, Brian had thought back then.  
  
“So, as I was about to say,” Justin had continued, choosing to ignore the brunet’s muttered reply, “we went to this gorgeous club in Brooklyn. Very cool. Literally. The walls were painted a light blue and the tables and couches were all very sleek – chrome and leather, and they had blue strobe lights all over the place. It reminded me so much of the loft, Brian. You should have been there.”  
  
“Probably a trick that was so impressed with his one-time-visit to the loft that he went to New York and erected a club in my honor. To worship the magic of my skills,” Brian had professed.  
  
“The word modesty doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” The blond had laughed. “Brian?” He had asked, suddenly serious; all humor gone from his voice.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do you think three months would be enough time to furnish a house?”  
  
Brian had sat up a little straighter, and focused his eyes on a point on the wall opposite from him while deciding on how to respond appropriately. “I suppose, if one had a clear idea in mind about what direction the interior design should take, it’d probably be something that could be accomplished.” He’d purposefully kept his words light and detached.  
  
“I thought about it. It should be Britin. Britin seems like the perfect place, you know?”  
  
“It’s our house. We might as well put it to use.”  
  
And this was how it started and went from that point on. Those first few phone calls created a setting for subtle hinting, thinly veiled innuendo, and double meanings, all of which blended together and worked to create an atmosphere of thrilling anticipation.  


<>>>><<<<>

  
Brian’s musings were brought to a halt when the cab driver announced that they’d arrived at their destination. Through a thick fog in his head, Brian got out of the car and followed a young woman who stood waiting for him.  
  
“Mr. Kinney. The private jet and the captain are waiting for you. We have clearance for takeoff for another five minutes. We need to hurry. This way, please,” she told him over the noise of air turbines and strong wind, pointing to a waiting airplane in the near distance and they both hurried along. Brian could feel the cold and storm-like winds rippling at his clothes as if they were trying hard to rip him apart and Brian’s mouth twisted into a grimace as he thought about how appropriate it felt.  
  
Once he had boarded the plane, Brian took a seat and, looking around and realizing he was alone aboard the tiny jet, allowed himself to sag into his chair. He felt all power drain from him, seeping out through all of his pores, leaving him a small, huddled heap of misery. This was not how Brian imagined their reunion to be like. He would never admit it to anyone, but since Justin left, he had secretly started counting days until they would see each other again. This morning, there were 67 days left. 25 days had passed in which Brian had kept himself busy buying furniture he and Justin chose from online catalogs, hiring painters and making sure the blue was the perfect hue of azure, the white not too off, the red and brown exactly the right shade of dark sandalwood.   
  
More than once Brian had wished Justin wasn’t 300 miles away. Seldom in his life did Brian feel incompetent, and would he have been asked before, he’d have said that he felt comfortable determining which color shade worked best with a certain interior. But having an artist as his significant other – and boy, would Justin love to hear being called that – made him want to place this task into the blond’s far more capable hands. Somehow it had become imperative that every room should look perfect. There was no margin for error when it came to Britin.  
  
A pressed out, mirthless laugh escaped Brian’s chest as he thought about how a simple phone call could make all of the issues that seemed of utter importance only a few minutes ago, take a backseat and become pathetically irrelevant. He’d readily give the house, the loft, and everything else that he owned for another message telling him that it was all a tragic mistake, that Justin was fine and well. He rubbed his already reddened eyes and shook his head in an attempt to dislodge some of the tension, but instinctively knew he would only be able to relax and breathe easily again when he had his arms around a certain blond.  
  
Brian stared out the window and noticed the jet was breaking through the clouds; they must have begun their descent. The stewardess, the same woman that escorted him onto the plane, stopped at his side and asked if he would like another drink before the landing. Brian declined. He’d already had a drink, although it had done nothing to ease the stiffness in his muscles; he knew from experience another one would only bring forth memories and he wasn’t ready to deal with more of those now. The woman spared him a sympathetic look, and disappeared behind the curtain in the front of the small aircraft, strapping herself into a seat.  
  
Obviously, Cynthia had arranged for a driver to pick him up. As soon as Brian disembarked, an elderly gentleman in a suit completed by a driver’s cap guided him to a waiting car. Brian got in, not bothering to give directions. Apparently, the driver had been informed of their destination.  
  
Brian would have thought that getting closer to the hospital would calm his frazzled nerves; however, as he watched tall buildings and bridges pass, he found his insides clench even more. He scraped up the last of his energy to straighten his shoulders and put a façade of calculated calm on his face. Experience had taught him that hospital-trained personnel would comply with demands faster if they weren’t dealing with emotional or hysterical relatives.  
  
He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket and got out of the car as soon as it came to a halt. Closing the button, he smoothed his hands over the dark material and straightened his tie. His fingers ran over the cell in his inner pocket and he suddenly remembered that he forgot to call Jennifer. She would have wanted to come with him. It was too late now. Brian thought about calling her but decided to wait until he had seen Justin and spoken to his doctor. This way, he would at least have some information to share with her instead of leaving her in a panic.  
  
Approaching the nurses’ desk, Brian cleared his throat and introduced himself when the nurse on duty looked up to him.  
  
“I’m here to see Justin Taylor. He was brought into the emergency room earlier today. Nurse…” Brian thought hard, trying to remember the name of the woman he had talked to on the phone, “…Claudia, I believe, called me.”  
  
“One second, please,” the nurse replied, pressing some buttons on her keyboard. “You’re Mr. Kinney?” She asked looking up from the computer screen.  
  
“Yes. Brian Kinney.”  
  
“Follow me.”  
  
Brian stepped away from the desk to let the woman pass and followed quickly in her step. She turned a corner and pushed open a door, standing aside to let Brian through.  
  
Brian knew he should have asked to speak to a doctor first or at least demand some information. But all he could think about was seeing Justin. Everything else he would take care of later.  
  
Stepping through the door, Brian entered the room, followed by the nurse. He marveled at the fact that he still had the presence of mind to mentally remark on the fact that Justin had been assigned a private room – a feat, Brian had no doubt, of his decision to include Justin in his own health insurance policy. Brian’s eyes immediately fell on the lone figure on the bed. He had his back turned to Brian, but the brunet could see the familiar blond head. He stepped closer to the bed and reached out an arm to touch the man’s shoulder who seemed to be asleep.  
  
“Justin,” Brian muttered softly.  
  
The blond jerked away suddenly as if burned and jumped out of the bed, moving away from Brian and the nurse. He faced his two visitors, his eyes moving rapidly from Brian to the nurse and back again until they finally focused on Brian’s face. Brian didn’t attempt to move closer, giving Justin time to realize it was him. When Justin’s eyes zeroed in on his face, Brian noticed him calming down, and for the first time in hours allowed the faintest trace of a smile to show on his face. Justin was here – physically seemingly unharmed, and conscious.  
  
They stared wordlessly at each other for a long minute before Justin jumped into his arms and almost strangled him with his tight hold. Brian didn’t care. Wrapping his arms around Justin in response, he buried his face in the smaller man’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent. Justin felt warm against his chest. Brian could feel the young man’s rapid heartbeat against his ribcage – the regular rhythm pumping life into his own body with every pulse. His muscles relaxed at last, letting go of the tension with one final painful jab. Brian’s hold around Justin tightened as he pressed the familiar body against himself. Justin felt so alive – relief washed over the taller man’s body and he almost cried when the emotional turmoil came to a stop.  
  
They stood clutching at each other until Justin finally moved and released the death grip he had on Brian’s shoulders. Brian loosened his hold, allowing Justin to take a step back to be able to look him in the face. The expression on the blond’s face was so intense, Brian couldn’t read it. The blue eyes penetrated his gaze as Justin spoke.  
  
“It feels like I know you. But I don’t.” His voice shook, sounding desperate and lost. “Who are you? And who am I?”  
  
Without intending to, Brian took two steps back, looking like he had just received a punch to his stomach. The sickening feeling rose to his throat and he almost puked. He swallowed dry a couple of times, not realizing that he was backing away slowly as he did so until he hit the wall behind him. Leaning his weight against it, he let his knees give in and sank to the floor. He dimly recognized the nurse in his peripheral vision talking to him but he couldn’t hear her words. Continuing to stare into the blue orbs, Brian’s only thought was that he finally understood the expression ‘white noise’.


	3. Chapter 3

Justin’s POV  
  
It’s been hours. I’ve been staring at the clock on the wall since they brought me into this room, watching the seconds and minutes tick away; pondering. Which should probably be very funny – what do you think about when your head feels perfectly empty? When you have no memories; none at all. Not of how you got here, who brought you here, why you’re here, or even who the fuck you are. Nothing. No matter how hard I try to think or to remember – I come up blank. Empty. I cling to the facts I know: The easiest explanation, of course, is that that is why I’m here – because I can’t remember a single thing. Only, I don’t think they know, the staff people. I’m not about to tell them. And I have a headache, a major one and nothing they’ve given me so far has helped. It makes little dots of light dance in my peripheral vision which irritates me to no end and makes me want to keep my eyes closed. Are the headaches why I’m here? Or are they the result of me trying to remember? I can’t decide. I focus on the details of the room: the clock, the chair, the TV monitor, the phone on my bedside table. They’re mundane, but I cling to the shapes and colors because those are the only pictures I have left in my head.  
  
A few doctors came to see me, nurses tried to talk to me. I refused to speak to them. They most certainly didn’t know me before I was brought in today, so what the fuck would they be able to tell me if I asked? I’m still hoping it will all come back to me. That’s why I don’t ask who I am. If I do, it will make it real. And I need it to be a nightmare. If I wait long enough, I will wake up. I have to believe in that. Why can’t I remember my name? I should be able to remember my name, if nothing else, right?  
  
They asked me questions. A battery of questions.   
  
“Do you know where you are and how you got here?” The admitting nurse. Do you?  
  
“Do you hurt somewhere besides your head?” The doctor on call. Does my heart count?  
  
“Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” The neurologist. And thanks, but I’m not blind.  
  
“Do you have a history with head injuries?” The psychologist. Isn’t that the One Million Dollar Question, Ladies and Gentlemen?  
  
“Do you want us to call someone?” The nurse again.  
  
And hundreds of other questions that don’t mean a thing when you wake up with your mind wiped blank. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to ask them anything. I demanded to know where I was and they descended upon me like a hive of locusts, touching, prodding, taking temperature and blood samples and the like, making notes in charts. I can’t bear to have them around. So I don’t ask any more questions. I want them to go away and leave me alone; to leave me be so I can concentrate on remembering who I am.  
  
Trying to remember feels not unlike stumbling blind-folded through unfamiliar terrain – it is dark, and empty, and frightening. Amidst this empty darkness there is one single thing that pulls me in, a feeling more than a real memory. Something bad has happened. And I’m supposed to remember. I feel people whose faces I can’t see staring at me, expecting me to remember. I feel like I’m letting them down because I can’t.  
  
After what feels like several hours, I’m finally brought into a patient’s room. Thank god, it’s a private. I curl up on the bed with my back to the entrance and ignore the constant stream of nurses and doctors going in and out of the door. Eventually, they stop checking up on me every five minutes and I am left to stare out the window and back at the clock on the wall.  
  
It’s been hours since a nurse came in. I guess they’ve finally given up. I thought, once they’d leave and stopped prodding, I’d have the peace to search my mind. I was sure it was only a matter of circumstances that would make me remember something – anything – again. Resignation finally settles in as I realize it’s not that easy. They’ve taken my clothes, so any clue of who I am or what I do is gone. I feel alone but it’s strange, so very strange. It’s like my rational mind tells me I should feel afraid, maybe even depressed at the thought of being alone, but my… heart… (or body?) doesn’t know how to feel those things. Or maybe I do without knowing what term to apply to those feelings inside me.  
  
I feel restless. The feeling of not belonging somewhere is overwhelming. My right hand twitches and I’m wondering why. I wait to see if the twitching will be followed by pain to determine whether it is a muscle spasm but nothing comes. Instead, colors flood my inner eye; warm, earthy hues that flush my body with a welcome calmness. I indulge in the peacefulness that they evoke. It’s so easy to get carried away by them. My mind wants sleep, but I don’t dare to let it slip away into another state of unconsciousness. I’m afraid I’ll have to start all over again. I’m afraid to lose the colors as well.  
  
Hurried steps outside my door interrupt my peaceful slumber and the swirl of colors behind my closed eyelids is replaced by the stark white wall in front of me. I purposefully turn my back to the door in expectation of my next visitor and wonder what sort of specialist they have produced this time. Since my senses seem to be hyper-aware, I hear two sets of steps enter my room. One of them is the nurse – her lilacs perfume fills my nostrils and I think I’m going to puke if she comes any closer. But she doesn’t and for a moment, I’m relieved. That is, until I notice the second person coming closer. I can’t see him, but his presence is all-encompassing. His warm touch reaches me the same moment his silky voice does. It’s not much more than two breathed syllables.  
  
 _“Justin.”_  
  
Both, voice and touch, are soft and stir something inside me that makes my heart rate pick up a galloping speed. I lurch from the bed and towards the wall opposite from him. I can’t explain my own reaction, but the sight before me as I turn around to face the intruders, keeps me from a detailed examination.  
  
He is…  _magnificent_.  
  
If I was some damsel in distress, he would be the knight in shining armor, sans the smelly horse. And, actually, sans the clunky armor as well. Instead of it, he’s clad in an impeccable suit that seems to have been custom-tailored to his body. I take in the tall height of the lean and slightly muscular frame in front of me. My eyes rake up his body until they reach his face again – the face of a god and I almost chuckle at the childish thought. I watch as his lips curl into an almost undetectable smile but I see it and it’s the most beautiful thing I can imagine. That is, until I focus on his eyes. They’re looking at me and the emotion in them is almost killing me. I recognize the warm, earthy browns and greens with specks of gold again. It’s the swirl of colors that kept me calm for the last hour or so. And for the first time since I woke up in this strange place, I feel the need for a physical connection. I need his touch more than I need my next breath.  
  
I throw myself at him, knowing instinctively that he will catch me. He does, wrapping his big arms around me. He pushes his face into my neck and I feel his breath on the exposed skin; it’s warm and moist and it makes a shiver run up my spine. His hair is so soft against my cheek and I think I’m going to pass out, my heart is beating so fast. I feel him take another deep breath and it sounds like a sigh. His body relaxes as his hold tightens around me and I allow myself to relax also. We fit together like two pieces of a whole. My body remembers him even though my mind doesn’t.  
  
He feels right. This… something… between us feels so right. Yet I can’t remember a single thing about him. I release the tight hold I have on his body and he does the same, allowing me to take a step back and glance up at him. I search his eyes, looking past them into a soul I  _know_  used to share its life with me, but a ghost of a feeling is all I get – just a feeling; no actual memory; no images or even vague shapes.  
  
I need to know.  
  
“It feels like I know you. But I don’t. Who are you?” After a heartbeat, I add, “And who am I?”


	4. Chapter 4

Justin’s POV  
  
For a tiny second, confusion colors his beautiful eyes before they cloud over with a darkness so intense, it makes me shiver. He staggers back a few steps until he is flush with the wall next to the door and his body slides down along it. His face contorts into a mask of unbearable pain and I have the picture of impenetrable walls being erected around the inner core of his being dancing across my mind’s eye. I ache at the thought to have caused him such pain and almost launch into an apology, though I don’t know what I should apologize for. Instead I watch the nurse spring into action. I don’t need a medical degree to recognize that he is oblivious to all the commotion around him as the nurse is joined by another, with a doctor in tow. His unseeing eyes are still fixed on mine but I’m not sure if he’s processing anything right now.  
  
I don’t know why or how, but I recognize his symptoms as a panic attack. It’s exactly how I felt when I woke up here with all those strange faces around me. The worst thing was not that I didn’t know any of them, not even that I had no recollection of myself. The worst thing was that they were touching me. They’re touching him right now.  
  
I suddenly break from my petrified state and hurl myself at the group gathered on the floor around this man. I push the nurses and the doctor away to get to him and kneel before his slumped form, taking his face in my hands. Somehow I know he won’t object to  _me_  touching him.  
  
“Look at me,” I implore him, nodding and holding his gaze. I fix his eyes with a stare, giving him something to focus on.  
  
I’m not sure what it is that makes the medical staff stand aside and let me do whatever it is that I’m doing without trying to interfere, but I’m grateful that they are. I gently brush the soft, chestnut hair from his face, and try to smile. The fog in his eyes seems to clear a little and they focus on my face.  
  
“Justin?”  
  
I suppose, that’s my name, so I nod.  
  
“What happened?” He asks in a faint voice.  
  
“You almost had a panic attack.” I explain.  
  
He nods slightly, looking around and acknowledging our audience. For a moment, I think I see him flush in embarrassment but the next second it’s gone and I’m not sure if I was imagining it. He struggles to pull himself up onto his feet and I help him, wrapping my arms around his torso once he’s upright. He’s wobbly on his feet, but his legs seem to carry his weight. Thank God. He’s too big for me to hold him upright for long. I feel his arm move to the top of my head and his fingers entangle themselves in my hair. It feels heavenly and I can’t help but release a deep sigh. His eyes bore into mine again and his stare is so intense, I feel like he’s looking right through me. I hold his gaze, wishing our spectators would leave us alone.  
  
He looks into my face for the longest time before he quietly whispers, his voice hollow, “You don’t remember me.” It’s not a question. It’s a sad statement.  
  
I shrug, hoping to make him understand that even though I have no active recollection of him or his persona, I know him with every fiber of my being. “Not with my mind,” I admit, letting the unspoken statement hang in the air between us.  
  
He nods curtly and presses my body into his taller one for a moment before releasing me again. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath, holding it in while his body is a perfectly rigid statue. An image flickers through my mind. I am reminded of a knight gathering his armor, shield, weapons, and strength, preparing to enter the fight. When he looks at me again, it’s with a newfound resolve and I watch him become the authoritative commander in front of my eyes, asking the hospital personnel to leave us alone. To my biggest amazement, they, one by one, file out of my room and close the door on their way out. During all that time, his gaze never leaves my face and I’m staring into his brown-greenish eyes, completely enthralled by the change in them.  
  
He pulls me to the bed, pushing me to sit on it and taking place across from me. Our knees almost touch and for a moment, that’s all I can focus on. But then I remember that I’m wearing a stupid hospital paper gown and I feel self-conscious. Judging by how hot my face feels, I’m probably blushing crimson right now. I lower my eyes, hoping to hide my burning cheeks. Gentle fingers lift my chin to direct my attention back to him and I realize he must have asked me something as he repeats his question one more time.  
  
“What do you remember?”  
  
“I,” I clear my throat before continuing, “…nothing, really. I remember nothing.”  
  
He looks at me, eyes searching my face, my answer obviously not enough. I close my eyes briefly and start again.  
  
“I woke up here and I was empty.” I tell him about the hospital staff trying to help but instead sending me into a panic. “They gave me something and it knocked me out. I was still conscious but my limbs felt so heavy and my mind felt heavy too. When the drugs wore off and my mind started working clearly again, I tried to remember my name. But I draw a blank every time I try. There’s nothing in there. No pictures, no faces, no factual memories. There are feelings, but they are faint. And I don’t know what to name them.”  
  
“Describe,” he orders softly.  
  
“When I try to remember and I can’t, I feel guilty.” His eyebrow pulls up in surprise at that and I hurry to explain, “It feels like people are waiting for me to remember and I feel like I’m letting them down. I don’t actually see them. I just know they are waiting. I got so desperate, I think my heart rate spiked.” I lift my hand to indicate the pulse oximeter attached to my index finger. “But then I saw colors. And they calmed me.”  
  
“What colors?” He asks in the same soothing voice.  
  
God, his voice feels like warm golden liquid. I have to concentrate to focus on what he’s saying instead of just being enthralled by the sound of it. I’m about to explain about the shades of brown and green when I look into his eyes, and say, “Hazel.”  
  
He smiles. An actual smile – the corners of his mouth pull up and his lips part very slightly. As if in a trance, I lift my left hand to this beautiful mouth and trace it with my fingertip. His lips are soft, dry, and warm, and my finger tingles when I pull it away again, suddenly embarrassed at the bold move.  
  
“We shared a life,” I say and he nods. “And I loved you.” He gulps visibly – at my using the past tense, I’m sure – but nods again. “And you loved me?” I ask. He stares at me and I think he’s not going to answer but then he nods again and I smile.  
  
“I’m gay,” I state the obvious. He shrugs a one-shouldered shrug and pulls up his eyebrow in a ‘Duh’-expression. I have to laugh at that and that’s when he freezes, staring at my smile. As it slowly slips from my face, I ask him what’s wrong.  
  
“Nothing,” he responds, his eyes still fixed on my no longer smiling mouth. “I was just momentarily blinded by the sunshine,” he mutters quietly.  
  
“Sunshine?” I inquire and actually glance to the window behind me. It’s cloudy today; looks like a summer storm is brewing.  
  
“Yeah, sunshine.” He’s not going to explain and I nod.  
  
We’re quiet for a couple of minutes until I break the silence.  
  
“So, what now?”  
  
“Now?” he asks.  
  
“Yes. Where do we go from here?” I want to scream ‘Get me out of here’ but I’m not sure if they’re going to let me go; or if he would want to take me with him. All I know is that, even though I don’t know him, I’d follow him anywhere. He wouldn’t even have to ask me to.  
  
“I guess, it’s time we talked to a doctor, don’t you think?” I’m about to protest. I don’t want to talk to any doctors. I just want to be left alone, to be left alone  _with him_. But I nod. If cooperation is going to make this thing move faster, I’m willing to try.  
  
He slides from the bed to leave, and I clutch at his hand desperately, an inquiring look in my eyes.  
  
“I’m calling the nurse,” he explains. “I’ll be back in a minute. I promise.” I nod again. I believe him.  
  
I watch him stroll across the room and out the door, admiring his form from behind. Something in my groin twitches and I palm myself through the material of the hospital gown, feeling my dick grow half-hard. I close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of my hand on my partially erect cock.  
  
 _Blue._  
  
This single word penetrates my consciousness and I gasp as my cock fills even more and expands under my hand. I’m about to release a moan when I feel his presence in my room again. I open my eyes and turn my head to see him standing in the doorframe, looking at me with an amused smirk on his face.  
  
I feel heat rising to my cheeks and know that my face is probably flushed beet red again. Great! Fact number one of the things that I’ve learned about myself: I’m gay. Fact number two: I’m prone to blushing. He comes over to take his earlier spot on the bed again, only this time he inches slightly closer, our bent knees actually touching. His hand slips under my palm and he gives my hard cock a light squeeze. My eyes roll back into my head and I bite down on my lower lip. He strokes me gently a couple of times, the hospital gown bunching up in my lap. He leans in, his cheek almost touching mine as he whispers in my ear, “Later.” Fucking tease!  
  
His hand leaves my crotch and I moan at the loss. His face is inches from mine, his breath washing over my face causing the most delicious tingling to spread in my body. I can’t stop staring at his lips. When his tongue slips out to moisten them, I want to kiss him. I want to press my lips onto his. I want to run the tip of my tongue across his bottom lip, tasting him. I want to bite his upper lip and then suck on it. I want to slide our tongues together, pulling his into my mouth, swallowing his flavor—  
  
I’m interrupted in my fantasy when the doctor enters my room, followed by the nurse from before. The man who’s been playing the lead role in my erotic fantasy – and I realize that I still don’t know his name – leaves his spot beside me on the bed and takes place in one of the chairs on the opposite wall. I try to regulate my breathing, well too aware of my flushed face and the raging hard-on under the gown that hardly covers anything. I smooth the way too thin fabric. As I do, my gaze skims his and I want to kick him for the knowing smirk that he’s wearing, but I can’t help but grin back.  
  
“Mr. Taylor,” the doctor starts when he has my attention and I immediately glance back at the beautiful man again, raising my eyebrows in question.  _Taylor_. Is that my name?  
  
He only nods and I focus my attention back on the doctor. He seems to understand because he looks from me to the man and back and starts anew.  
  
“Mr. Taylor, my name is Doctor Pereira. I’m the professor of neurology in our neurology division. We’re going to ask you a few personal questions and I want you to answer as best as you can but please, don’t feel discouraged if you don’t know the answer, alright?”  
  
“Okay,” I reply.  
  
“Before we start, I will have to ask you to leave the room,” the doctor tells the god-like creature in the chair.  
  
I’m afraid he’s going to follow this instruction and am about to protest when I see he doesn’t move a muscle to comply with the doctor’s orders. Instead, he’s looking at me, asking, “Do you want me to leave, Justin?”  
  
I shake my head and add in a definitive tone, “No, please stay.” I turn to look at the doctor and add, “I want him to stay.”  
  
“Alright,” the doctor agrees. “What’s your name?”  
  
Really? My name? I shake my head in disbelief but pull myself together quickly. He probably has a protocol to follow – it’s not his fault.  
  
“Justin Taylor, from what I’ve been told,” I reply, tasting the name on my tongue as I say it out loud for the first time. Nothing. Not even a vague, unnamable, foggy feeling.  
  
“You don’t remember?” The doctor asks.  
  
“Duh,” I can’t help but answer.  
  
The doctor grins at that and continues, “Do you know what year it is?”  
  
I have to think about that. “2005,” I reply hesitantly.  
  
The doctor makes a note on his clipboard and I’m wondering. “Am I wrong?” I want to know.  
  
“No, it is 2005. Can you narrow it down to a specific date?” He inquires.  
  
I frown and try to remember. Nope; again, nothing. I shake my head.  
  
“Very well,” the doctor continues unperturbed. “Do you know where you are?”  
  
“In a hospital.”  
  
“The city?”  
  
“New York, I think.” I answer.  
  
“You think?” He digs deeper.  
  
“The sirens outside, the traffic sounds like New York,” I explain.  
  
Dr. Pereira nods and makes some more notes.  
  
It goes on like this for the next seventy minutes. I get impatient after the twentieth question in succession that I have to answer with “I don’t know” and look at my knight in form-fitting pinstriped Prada armor for help. He sits down on the bed beside me and takes my hand which gives me the strength to finish this senseless and pretty much one-sided conversation. After another fifteen minutes, the doctor explains to us a medical condition he calls retrograde amnesia, probably caused by a physical blow to the head. Apparently, I fell from a ladder and hit my head on it on my way down. He then proceeds to explain the terms declarative memory, diagnosing a loss of episodic memory in my case. I try to listen but am distracted by the soothing thumb, rhythmically caressing my palm in circular patterns. I don’t care what medical or technical terms they apply to my condition. Knowing what to call it will not help me recover what I’ve lost.  
  
All I know is this: If this man sitting beside me right now was part of my life, then I want this life back. Every single day and minute of it. I perk up when the doctor starts explaining possible treatments. MRI and EEG to rule out physical damage, but also to assess the affected area of the brain. He also explains different methods of neuroimaging and how advanced the technology is in linking certain brain areas to mechanisms of memory processing that relates to declarative memory. Dr. Pereira suggests psychotherapy to try to recover the lost memories should the exams come back clear for any physical brain damage, if I am inclined to try it, at which I nod frenetically. Of course, I am.  
  
We have to endure another battery of tests and I am forced to answer all the same questions over and over again – only this time I have to do it while wearing a funny hat with dozens of electrodes attached to it. The whole procedures take several more hours. I’m wheeled back into my room after every one of them and each time I’m thrilled to find the man of my dreams waiting for me there.  
  
“You done?” He asks me once the nurse wheeled me back in and helped me into bed like I’m some kind of invalid. I can do it perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.  
  
“Yes, that was the last one. Thank God.” I hesitate for a moment but decide to ask anyway, “Can we go home now?”  
  
“Justin, I talked to your doctor. He’s not sure it’s such a good idea,” he starts and I am disappointed but try to gauge whether it is simply his concern for my health or if he really doesn’t want me with him. I decide to push it.  
  
“I talked to him too, you know? He said experts disagree on what the right course of treatment in amnesia cases should be. That means they don’t know shit. Being in a familiar environment can trigger some memories. And I want them back. I have nothing to lose.”  
  
He looks at me, remaining quiet for some time. “Okay then,” he finally says. “We’re going home. I’ll go ask the nurse to get your release papers ready.”  
  
I smile, happy that he didn’t put up more of a fight.  _Home_. I wonder what that word entails. Did we use to live together? I sure hope so. I don’t want to imagine spending the night somewhere without him. Is it crazy that, despite him not being familiar to me, he doesn’t feel like a stranger either? I ponder what exactly it is that makes me trust him and I think of his beautiful eyes and the way he looks at me. But that’s only part of it. Another quite big part of it is the attraction that I feel between us. Whenever he is close, it feels like the air is sizzling with energy. I want to be alone with him. I want to see what happens then.


	5. Chapter 5

Justin’s POV  
  
Not for the first time today I’m wondering whether this all is just a fucked up dream that I’m having. First I wake up in an ambulance, with my head pounding to an unnerving rhythm; next thing I know I’m in a hospital and the staff is raising a fuss around me while I can’t remember a single thing. Several hours later I’m still in the same hospital, not a single step the wiser as to why I am here or who I am or where ‘here’ actually is and drawing a total blank on any of the W-questions. But I am not alone anymore. In fact, I am about to go home with this man who’s too beautiful for words. This can only be a dream, right? Except, I don’t think I could have ever made him up, not in my wildest fantasies. He moves with such animalistic grace, totally comfortable and secure of his place in the world and has this arrogance and air of confidence around him that makes the doctors and orderlies cater to his wishes, even though they are the authorities here. It’s in the way he speaks – with authority that leaves no room for objections. He looks self-assured, almost to the point of dangerous. But his eyes give him away. They reveal vulnerability, if you only know how to look. Or maybe he doesn’t show it to anyone else but me. Who knows?  
  
I’m getting impatient to find out. But there’s papers we, or rather he, has to deal with first. He’s off filling out a release against medical advice form while I am left to wait in the patient’s room. He’s not gone long and comes back only a few minutes later, throwing some clothes on the bed. They’re new. He must have bought them at the hospital gift shop.  
  
“Get dressed. The doctor will be in with the release papers in about five minutes. I signed them already, but they need an official signature from him as well. Then we’re ready to leave.”  
  
I look from the clothes on the bed to him and back. Despite the pictures that my mind produces whenever he’s close enough to touch or smell, I suddenly feel very self-conscious and shy. He purses his lips and seems to read my thoughts because he strolls over and grabs the hem of my hospital gown, pulling it over my head without any hesitation.  
  
“No need to be coy, Sunshine,” he quips while ripping open the packaging of the T-shirt and pulling it unceremoniously down over my head. He reaches for the package that contains the pants next, that’s when I finally move into action and grab them from him.  
  
“I can dress myself, thank you very much,” I say, sitting on the bed and pulling them on. “Sunshine?” I ask. He mentioned sunshine before, if I remember correctly.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Why Sunshine?” I wonder how that nickname came to be.  
  
Instead of an answer he checks that I’m decent and pulls me with him into the small bathroom. We stand in front of the mirror, him behind me, my back touching his chest. It’s so warm that I feel myself relax into him and I close my eyes. His arms wrap around me and I sigh in contentment. We stand there without moving at all, until I finally open my eyes and look into the mirror in front of us.  
  
I take in his by now familiar features before I let my gaze stray over to my own face. It’s weird how during this whole crazy day I never once wanted to take a look in the mirror. I study my own reflection – blond hair, neat haircut that looks kind of fresh, like only from a few days ago, blue eyes, pale skin, and full lips. I don’t know whether to like what I see or not, so I look at him instead and gauge his reaction. The uncertain expression on my face is not hard to decipher and, again, he seems to be able to read my thoughts as we join our gazes in the mirror. He whispers softly, his warm breath washing over my temple as his lips almost touch my skin, “You’re beautiful.”  
  
I know that he means it and a smile spreads across my face, I’m so happy. He smiles too and nods towards the mirror, saying, “And that’s why.”  _Sunshine._ I think I understand.  
  
We remain quiet for a little while, both of us looking in the mirror at our smiling faces. For a moment I think I see his smile waver a little, but I can’t be too sure about it. Not knowing how to interpret the things that I notice about him is becoming unsettling in a way that makes me jumpy. I don’t even know if to trust the things that I’m seeing. I slowly begin to realize that this could get even more complicated than it already is which makes me want to go home even more. I want something familiar around me.  
  
“What do I call  _you_?” I ask hesitantly. I don’t want to remind him that I don’t know his name because a few times today during our few minutes alone together he seemed to forget. Then I would do or say something and he would remember and his eyes would glaze over with pain for the tiniest of moments; just like they do now. It’s gone as fast as it came and he answers me.  
  
“God. Usually followed by  _Yes. More. Deeper_ ,” he jokes.  
  
I grin back.  _That_  I have no trouble believing.  
  
“Tell me,” I request seriously after a moment.  
  
We look at each other in the mirror and he finally answers, “Brian.”  
  
I wet my lips before tasting his name. “Brian,” I say quietly and smile.  
  
I turn in his arms and raise mine to wind them around his neck. “Brian,” I repeat again. He lowers his head ever so slowly but stops at the last second to look me deeply in the eyes before continuing what he started. Or maybe it was I who started it. Before our lips can connect, the door to my room is pushed open and the attending doctor walks in with papers in his hand. I growl in frustration and Brian – God, I love to think his name – laughs in response to my reaction. He pulls my hands from around his neck and pushes me gently out of the bathroom, following behind me with his hands on my shoulders.  
  
After another torturous ten minutes in which Brian has to sign at least a dozen different forms in addition to those that he already signed, we’re finally free to go. I refuse to sit in the wheelchair they rolled in and even though it’s against hospital regulations, they let me walk out instead of being wheeled out. A nurse accompanies us to the hospital entrance where I leave with Brian, my hand firmly held in his slightly larger one.  
  
A black limousine with dark-tinted windows, complete with a driver at the rear door, awaits us at the curb. The driver pulls open the door as soon as he sees us, nodding in greeting.  
  
“Mr. Kinney, Mr. Taylor.”  
  
Irish. Brian is Irish – I make a mental note, anxious to collect as much information as I can about Brian without actually asking him. I have so many questions. Do we always drive in a limousine? Are we rich? Is he? How? I decide now is not the time to ask those questions. I’ll wait until we’re home. Maybe being surrounded by my life will bring those lost memories back. It will spare Brian the agony of telling me.  
  
We drive through the heavy New York City traffic which takes longer because it’s early evening and the end of a work day. I watch as the buildings grow scarce and we pass through mostly plain area. Finally it dawns on me – we’re going to the airport. I turn to look at the man on my side. He sees the question on my face and offers as a reply, “You wanted to go home.”  
  
“Home is not New York?” I ask. I just assumed…  
  
“No,” he says definitively then adds in a more hesitant tone, “I hope not.”  
  
I don’t know what he means by that but I trust him. I want to ask where we’re going, I roam the darkness of my mind for an answer but there’s nothing there. A big fat dark vastness of nothingness.  
  
“Pittsburgh,” he answers my unvoiced broodings. “That’s where we live. Used to live,” he quickly corrects himself. “Before you went to New York.”  
  
“ _I_  went to New York?” I ask in disbelief.  _I_  as in  _alone_ , without  _him_? Why would I ever do that? Dozens of possible scenarios run through my mind like a movie on time lapse. I don’t like any of the possibilities my imagination comes up with.  
  
“Yes.” He’s not willing to elaborate. But I’m not willing to drop the matter just yet.  
  
“Did we have a fight?” I ask the obvious.  
  
He laughs at that and I think I detect bitterness in his voice when he offers me an answer, “Quite the opposite, Sunshine.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” I say, perfectly confused.  
  
“Neither do I.”  
  
Apparently, Brian enjoys speaking in riddles, because I still don’t understand. “When did I leave?” I ask.  
  
“Three weeks and four days ago,” he tells me and I wonder why he knows it exactly to the day.  
  
My mind is swimming with this new information that I can’t make heads or tails out of. Right then, the car comes to a stop and the door is opened for us. We are brought to a small jet plane that is apparently waiting only for us – I see no other passengers or cars anywhere near ours. As we take our seats in the luxurious chairs, I feel fatigue settle over my body, and have to work hard on keeping my eyes open. Brian requests a blanket from the young but professional looking flight attendant, which she brings over promptly.  
  
He pulls me towards his body, my head resting on his shoulder, as he spreads the soft dark blue cover over me and tells me to go to sleep. I squirm a little, trying to find the perfect spot until I’m comfortable and close my eyes, thinking how perfect the curve of his neck fits my head. The last thing I remember before falling into a dreamless slumber are his warm fingers playing with the little hairs in the nape of my neck.


	6. Chapter 6

Brian pulled the door to the loft open. He let go of Justin’s hand that he had been clutching through the whole drive from the airport, and stood aside to let Justin enter first. He watched carefully as the blond looked around the spacious place. Brian felt his insides clench a little as he waited for Justin to say something. He couldn’t help but flash back to the first time he had brought the blond twink here, the surprise and impression at his surroundings so visible on the teenager’s face. But Justin was not a teenager anymore, and Brian hadn’t brought him here as the trick de jour. It took Brian years to learn and come to terms with the fact that he preferred his loft with the belongings of a certain talented artist strewn around every surface and corner, swearing every time he tripped over a stray sneaker, and bitching at the mess in his kitchen. It took him even longer to admit this out loud. He wasn’t looking forward to reliving the good ol’ days.   
  
At Justin’s hesitation just inside the door, Brian placed a hand on the small of his back and pushed him gently further inside.  
  
“Welcome back,” Brian said while closing the door behind them, hoping to remind Justin that this was his home, too.  
  
Justin’s reply was a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes and made Brian’s insides clench just a bit. He looked lost and, more than that, he looked like he didn’t belong here.  
  
Brian was determined to eventually reinstate Justin to the place the blond still held in his life and his home. Justin may live in New York right now, but that was nothing more than a reprieve; a temporary setback. The same held true for this amnesia thing as well, Brian was certain of it and refused to take it more seriously than that, despite what he had read on the plane during their flight home. He’d studied the statistics on amnesia cases of the last few decades as well as all the leaflets the doctor had given him. They all basically said the same: every amnesia case is different; the first days and weeks would be an indicator to how things were going to play out in the future. But Justin’s sleeping form pressed against his side had been enough of an assurance to believe that they would be just fine once they were back home.   
  
 _We can do it_ , Brian thought, repeating the line that had become his mantra ever since he’d talked to the doctor while signing Justin’s release papers. Dr. Pereira had provided him with a list of specialists in the greater Pittsburgh area and advised to make an appointment soon to start working on getting Justin’s memories back. While he’d again stressed that every amnesia case was different, the doctor had also cautioned Brian not to expect miracles. He had shared statistics about recovery time and suggested that, in case the first few days wouldn’t bring forth some memories, that Brian talk to a doctor, too, to discuss how best to deal with disappointment without it influencing the patient’s recovery work. Brian had nodded. Mostly because he was of the opinion that statics were for shit. His and Justin’s lives and their relationship were testament to that. And also, he just wanted to finally get out of that place. If it was true that being in familiar places could trigger memories, Justin certainly didn’t need any of those that could be triggered back by being in another fucking hospital.  
  
At that time it had seemed paramount to Brian to get to Pittsburgh. While knowing that the expectations he had of being in the loft were most irrational, he also knew that the loft was special for both of them. The blond had been right in insisting on leaving the hospital – Justin needed to be in a place that was theirs, that was filled with both their memories, that wasn’t some sterile room. The loft had borne witness to some of their most spectacular highs as well as their most devastating lows, and everything in between. Brian couldn’t think of any other place that was more connected to them as a couple. And he knew – he just  _knew_  – that Justin, even if he wouldn’t be able to factually remember it, would be able to feel it. Just as he had felt that Brian was a part of him. It had taken Brian a while – okay, Brian conceded, so maybe five years were more than just a while – but he’d finally learned to trust Justin and to trust  _them_  – the team that the two of them were. Life had been throwing shit at them since he could remember, but somewhere along the way Justin had succeeded in teaching him that they could, and would, handle everything that was yet to come.   
  
Brian watched Justin with a hawk’s eye while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible about it. He didn’t want to intimidate Justin by letting his expectations show and schooled his facial expression as best as he could.  
  
Justin took a few hesitant steps and let his fingers touch a pillar, a desk, and lingered on the white sofa. Brian watched as Justin’s eyes darted back and forth across every surface and every piece of furniture as if seeing it for the first time and Brian almost chuckled. Factually, he  _was_  seeing it for the first time. When Justin’s eyes landed on the large canvas leaning against the wall to the right of the TV set, Brian involuntarily held his breath. His parting gift; though Justin preferred to call it, ‘Something you can look at while you jerk off thinking of me’. Aside from the contents of a little box in his nightstand, this painting was Brian’s most prized possession. It screamed  _victory_ ; victory over circumstance, hospitals, closeted football jocks, ratty musicians, more hospitals, opinionated friends, opportunity, and, most of all, over time. But Justin’s eyes simply skimmed the colorful painting just as they did with everything else. Brian frowned.  
  
As Justin turned to take in the rest of the loft, he walked into the center of the large space and stood indecisively. The uncertainness of his movements and the expression on his face reminded Brian once more of a Justin from five years ago. The only difference was that his teenager alter ego wouldn’t shut up while this new Justin seemed almost afraid to speak. It was a weird situation that made Brian’s crease between his brows more pronounced. He felt a little like watching a movie for a second time; only the first time around he’d watched it in English while this version played in a language he didn’t understand.  
  
But the weirdest thing of all, something that really fucked with Brian’s head, was that versions of his former self repeatedly appeared before his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that he was reliving a familiar situation that made him want to slip into his old assholish self. Or maybe it was the realization of not being totally in control of the situation. It seemed so easy to just slip back into his old persona, and he constantly needed to remind himself that he was not that person anymore. And Justin was not… well, he wasn’t sure who Justin was right now. Brian didn’t like to admit it, but he felt slightly overwhelmed by the challenge he and Justin were facing this time, and he didn’t like it one bit. Wanting to break free from the memories of the past that kept assaulting him, he moved closer to the blond and reached for his hand, directing Justin’s attention to him.  
  
Justin felt the warm fingers touch him and looked up. He’d been so immersed in his surroundings, he almost forgot everything else around him. He knew he should be focusing on trying to remember; should be working on finding out if anything appeared familiar. But instead his mind was busy seeing Brian in the space that was supposedly his or maybe even theirs. That he couldn’t see himself here came as no big surprise. How could he expect to recognize himself if he didn’t know who he was? But what troubled him more at that particular moment was that he couldn’t see Brian either. At least not the Brian he had come to know from the hospital.  
  
He felt weirdly blocked by this space; intimidated, and, what was even worse, he felt unwelcome. Ever since he woke up in the hospital, his mind had been a mess of mostly impenetrable black space. When Brian had entered the room, he’d felt some sense of color again; but being here, in this loft, felt almost worse than being in the hospital. Only when Brian’s fingers wrapped around his wrist gently did he resurface from his ponderings.  
  
The reassuring expression on Brian’s face gave him the courage to speak.  
  
“This is where we live?” he asked while still glancing around, busy taking in every detail.  
  
His eyes riveted on the younger man, Brian answered, “Yes.”  
  
“Huh,” Justin only replied. He allowed Brian to hold his hand and had actually unconsciously entwined their fingers, but still stood in the middle of the room, obviously overwhelmed with his surroundings; though Brian suspected it wasn’t just from being impressed with the classy chrome interior. Rooted to his spot beside the kitchen counter, Justin’s eyes darted about. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t dare claim his place in the room and the thought irritated Brian further, but he was resolute about allowing Justin to move in his own time. This was another thing the doctor had warned him about: Don’t rush things. Allow yourself the time that it takes to get used to each other again. Time was a concept Brian was familiar with; time didn’t scare him anymore. Time he could deal with.  
  
“Are you a model?” the question suddenly tumbled from Justin’s lips. A second later, he flushed crimson with embarrassment.  
  
Brian released an involuntary laugh at that. His reaction seemed to make Justin even more uncomfortable and Brian apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” He waited until Justin dared to look up at him from under his eyelashes. He remained unusually shy and even attempted to release his hand from Brian’s hold but Brian wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he asked, “Why would you think that I’m a model?”  
  
Justin’s eyes darted back to the floor before sweeping his surroundings once more. Finally, they landed on Brian again and looked the taller man over, from head to toe and back. “Well, …” Justin began and turned beet-red again. “Ehmm, you…” he tried but stopped. How should he explain that he’d never seen a man more beautiful? Even though he couldn’t remember, this he was certain of. And everything else, from Brian’s behavior to this upscale place, seemed to support the idea. He cleared his throat and tried another explanation, “And the limousine. And this…”  
  
“This?” Brian asked, honestly curious about Justin’s mostly monosyllabic explanation.  
  
“The loft,” Justin said.  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“Nothing,” The blond hurried to assure. When he saw the brow pulled up in question, he tried to explain. It was difficult to find the right words amidst the sea of chaos in his head. “It’s just so…” he searched for a word and finally settled on, “…sterile.”  
  
Brian pushed his tongue into his cheek and tried not to look hurt. Pulling a neutral mask over his features, Brian let go of Justin’s hand and strolled into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. But as another memory from the past flashed before his eyes, he changed his route and instead he walked over to the sofa, letting his body sag into the soft cushions. He closed his eyes for a moment and immediately scolded himself for leaving Justin to just stand there alone and confused. Brian put a smile on his face, and motioned for Justin to come over. He knew Justin needed his reassurance more than anything else right now.  
  
Justin’s shoulders relaxed immediately in relief and he smiled as he joined Brian on the sofa.  
  
“I said something wrong, didn’t I?” Justin treaded carefully.  
  
“No,” Brian replied. “You’re right. The style is designed to reflect a certain…” Brian thought about a word that would best describe the design of the loft without it reflecting negatively on its inhabitants. “…coolness,” Brian finally said, deciding it was true enough without being too revealing.  
  
Justin wrinkled his nose in confusion. He realized his earlier statement must have touched a sensitive spot with Brian, but he just couldn’t see himself in this place. He didn’t have any idea of what he would have preferred instead, but he figured he was not as anally neat as Brian seemed to be. He wondered how they had managed in the past and decided to tread with caution as curiosity got the better of him. He just needed some answers and hoped that they would quiet down the current storm in his head. “How long have we lived here?”  
  
Brian focused on the blond and considered his answer. He had hoped that the really difficult questions wouldn’t come until they’d at least had a good night’s rest. “I bought this place some ten years or so ago.”  
  
Justin had to think about it. Just as he did remember what year it was, he knew that he was 22. It felt incredibly strange knowing these facts but to have no access to anything of a more personal matter. He didn’t know how to phrase his next question best, so he just asked, “How long have we lived here together?”  
  
Brian squeezed his eyes shut to block out the burgeoning headache. He placed a hand on the back of Justin’s neck and pulled him slightly closer. Unwittingly, Justin had ventured into the highly complex structures that made up his and Brian’s relationship. One thing Brian knew for sure was that he would and could not relive all of their past mistakes and hurtful actions. He flashed back on another conversation he’d had with Justin’s doctor in New York during one of the times when they had taken Justin for an exam while Brian had remained behind in his patient’s room. Brian had known that Justin would ask questions; the blond was nothing if not a persistent and curious little twat.  
  
 _“He’s going to demand answers,” Brian had stated.  
  
“That’s only natural with amnesia patients,” the doctor had replied.  
  
Brian had smirked. He’d figured that much. “Do I give him answers?”  
  
“Mr. Kinney,” the doctor had sighed, “one thing you have to understand is that there is no protocol to follow when you’re dealing with amnesia. The science is still arguing about what the best approach might be. Some figure it’s best to answer as extensively as possible. I guess there’s always hope that if a patient has access to all the information, one of them is bound to trigger something eventually. There is, however, no proof of that. You also have to consider that memories are highly subjective. The way you remember something may not be the way it was stored in the patient’s mind. That’s why other professionals tend to argue that a patient only needs to be provided with the absolutely necessary facts, so as not to steer him in a direction that might be detrimental to his recovery. Another factor to consider is that we know next to nothing about how long-term memory works. We’ve only gotten around to mapping the involved brain areas. Aside from that, it’s still a highly unexplored area of expertise. There are ongoing studies of course, but we are from drawing any conclusions from the data collected so far. In addition, all processes where the brain is involved are prone to extreme variations, depending on the individual.”  
  
“You’re not being helpful, doc.” Brian had answered, rubbing his five o’clock shadow with one hand.  
  
“You want an ultimate answer from me – and there is none. I can only advise you to give him information that would be beneficial to create stability and security. That’s what, without any doubt, all amnesia patients need the most: a functioning safety net; a grounding basis on which they can feel secure to tread and experiment. They require to know that people they came to rely and depend on since waking up without memories will continue to be part of their lives; that they will not abandon them. That’s the best advice I can give you, Mr. Kinney.”  
  
Brian had nodded. Security and stability. Clearly, most of their past was off-topic then.  
  
“What about treatment?” Brian had demanded to know.  
  
“I will give you a list of psychologists that specialize in amnesia, but, once again, there is no one course of treatment. There are no pills, no electroshocks, no surgery, no physical therapy that will make things better.”  
  
Brian had been about to interrupt when the doctor raised a hand and stopped him.  
  
“I know I’m beginning to sound like a broken record,” Dr. Pereira had admitted with a consoling smile. “This is amnesia, Mr. Kinney. You will not find a person that has the exact same condition as Justin and has made the exact same experiences dealing with it. We can’t even give you an answer to the question whether it’s a permanent condition in Mr. Taylor’s case or just a temporary break the brain needs. All I can say is, you have to find your own way. If you’re the person who knows him best, you’ll know what to say and what to keep to yourself for the time being.”  
  
Brian had given a grim shake with his head. Obviously, the doctor had no idea about the dimensions of the lack of his social skills._  
  
In a moment of brutal honesty, Brian was able to admit to himself that his evasive answers had only partly to do with the talk he’d had with the doctor. The frailty state of his own emotions was also a major factor in his decision not to disclose every little detail to Justin.  
  
Seeing the struggle in Brian’s eyes, Justin quietly said, “You’re not going to tell me.” It was a statement, made without accusation. What Brian didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, was that the answer to this question was just another of a billion things that Justin had no access to and one thing more or less really made no difference to him right now. Justin didn’t know if it was anger that he was feeling, but if it was, then it wasn’t directed at Brian but rather at the universe as a whole. He was still resolute to have the answers, and this determination made him patient.  
  
Brian’s hand in his neck caressed him softly before Brian leaned in and pressed his lips to Justin’s.  
  
“Yes, I am,” Brian said, answering Justin’s statement. “I’ll make you a deal: You wait till I have showered, then we go to bed, and in the morning, I am going to answer your question.” He smiled to signal that he was being honest and that it wasn’t just a tactic to put Justin off. Brian hoped Justin would still instinctively know that he could trust his promises and that he’d still be able to read his body language. They’d be seriously fucked if it turned out that he wasn’t, Brian thought.  
  
But Justin smiled and nodded. “Deal.” Brian looked exhausted and he was tired as well. Plus, Brian had mentioned going to bed, and Justin couldn’t wait for that.  
  
Brian stood up, extending his hand for Justin to grab and pulled the blond from the couch. Before he walked Justin in the direction of the bedroom, he studied the blank face carefully. Nothing. No sign of recognition. Brian couldn’t squash a slight flicker of disappointment and tried to cover it by leaning in to kiss Justin again.  
  
Justin eagerly and happily kissed him back, but when they separated, he pierced Brian with a penetrating gaze of his own and whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t remember.”  
  
“No! You don’t have to be sorry for that. It’s not your fault.” He pulled the blond closer and held him tightly against his chest. “It was a long day; you don’t have to remember today.”  
  
“But I am going to remember. I promise, you’ll see,” Justin tried to assure Brian.  
  
Brian didn’t want Justin to put himself under too much pressure. He also remembered a night that Justin said he’d never forget and never would have wanted to either, had it been up to him. Brian knew from experience that sometimes people had no decision over what they would remember. “And if not – we’ll deal, too,” he whispered in Justin’s ear, hoping he sounded convincing.  
  
Justin tensed in Brian’s arms and for the first time wondered if the doctor had told Brian more than he had told him. Justin had gotten his own lecture of taking it one day at a time, of not rushing things, of not being discouraged by lack of success. But maybe there was more? “What did the doctor say, Brian?” He pulled out from the embrace to be able to look into Brian’s eyes.  
  
Gazing back at the blond, Brian didn’t have the nerve to lie. The truth was, and it was something Brian was still learning how to deal with: There was no master plan. There was no need for Brian’s proverbial knight’s armor because there was no enemy to fight. “We’re on our own, Sunshine.”  
  
Justin’s mouth opened to say something, but as no words came out, Brian pulled him close again and assured, “It’s okay. We can do it.”  
  
Brian walked the few steps up to the bedroom, Justin following behind him, firmly clutching Brian’s hand. The brunet stood before what used to be their bed and suddenly realized that they had to consider possible sleeping arrangements. As much as he wanted to be close to the blond, he wasn’t sure if he should force Justin to share the bed with a person who was a stranger to him; even if said almost-stranger was more than willing, if the excitement on his face was any indication. Brian started pulling his cover and pillow from the bed, earning himself a questioning stare from the young man.  
  
“What are you doing?” Justin asked in confusion.  
  
“Getting my things, so I can make myself comfortable on the sofa. You will sleep here,” Brian decided.  
  
“Did we use to have separate sleeping arrangements?” Justin asked, bewildered and disappointed.  
  
Brian had to smirk at the ridiculousness the question implied. “No.” He shook his head.  
  
“Then why would you want to start now?”  
  
“Listen, you’re hurt and—” Brian started to explain but was interrupted.  
  
“I’m fine. They wouldn’t have let me go at the hospital if I wasn’t.”  
  
“You  _were_  hurt, and it’s been a fucking long day, and you need your rest.” After a thought, Brian added, “And you don’t know me. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”  
  
“Then lie down with me?” Justin begged, his desire for this mysterious man returning full force as he thought about spending the night in his embrace. He longed to reestablish the connection that he had caught a glimpse of back in the hospital. He had hoped that by coming home with this man, he’d feel more comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t have any illusions about seeing the place where he used to live and it triggering any  _immediate_  response. Actually, he hadn’t thought much about it at all, he’d been so preoccupied with leaving the hospital with Brian. He’d hoped that the memories would come back in time; but what had been of more importance to him then was to leave the anonymity of the hospital. He wanted to be somewhere where he’d feel at home. But he hadn’t been prepared for the starkness of Brian’s loft. Not only did it not feel familiar to him; on the contrary – it exuded a strange and hostile vibe that made him feel unsettled. More than before, Justin craved the warmth of Brian’s care. He needed it not only because his desire commanded him, but also to shield him from this place that felt more foreign to him than the hospital room he’d spent the day in. Justin shyly wrapped his fingers around Brian’s wrist and pulled him towards the bed until Brian surrendered and sat down on the edge.  
  
When Brian looked up at him, Justin suddenly felt insecure. He slowly reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Watching him from his sitting position, Brian did the same. When the muscular smooth chest was revealed, Justin’s eyes fixed on the sight before him, unable to turn away. His gaze raked up and down the brunet’s body and he longed to touch it but wasn’t sure how to initiate the contact. He licked and bit down on his lip tentatively and smiled when he heard Brian release a groan at that.  
  
Brian couldn’t sit still anymore. It had been torture having Justin near him the whole day, without being able to initiate physical contact after seeing his partner for the first time in a month. Now Justin was biting his own lip, unknowingly teasing Brian even more. As much as Brian wanted to, he just couldn’t take advantage of Justin when he was practically a stranger to him. Brian decided a cold shower would help him get a grip on his yearning and stood up quickly. Briskly walking into the adjoining bathroom, he announced, “I’m taking a shower. Why don’t you look through this dresser here; there should still be some of your clothes inside,” and disappeared through the door.  
  
Justin stood still beside the large bed, bemused and not knowing how to react. He wanted Brian and thought that he saw a glimmer of want in the hazel eyes as well. But now Brian was rejecting him and Justin didn’t know what to make of that. What kind of relationship did the two of them have, he wondered? Brian was reluctant to talk about it, so Justin figured, it must be complicated – whose relationship wasn’t, really? However, he decided to postpone an examination of the factual side of their living arrangements for now, and focused on the matters at hand instead. Those facts were much simpler: He wanted Brian. He wanted to touch him and ached to be touched in return. Gathering all his courage, he pulled down his pants and stepped out of them. Only hesitating for a second at the door dividing the two rooms, he walked into the bathroom and froze in his steps at the sight that presented itself to him.  
  
Brian’s beautiful, tall and tanned form surrounded by steaming hot water cascading down the planes of his body made Justin’s fingers twitch. He balled them into a fist, not knowing what to make of it. Enjoying the view for a moment, he readied himself to enter the shower enclosure. Just as he decided to take a first step towards the naked man, Brian chose this moment to turn around and Justin gasped, his eyes drawn downwards by some invisible force. He noticed the long, thick, and very hard cock curving away from the man’s body, almost touching his belly.  
  
Justin’s jaw dropped open a little and his mouth watered. He thought he tasted something salty, with a slightly bitter taste mixed into the flavor, while a familiar feeling of velvety soft hardness sliding along his tongue made itself present in his mind. All blood suddenly flushed from his head and towards his own sex, filling it. Justin glanced down his own body, seeing and feeling it expand, before looking up to watch the divine picture not even three feet away from him.  
  
Brian had his head thrown back, letting the water stream beat down on his face and neck. He felt Justin’s presence in the room but refused to open his eyes, curious to know how the blond would react. The anticipation was making his dick ache and grow impossibly harder but he forced himself to wait.  
  
Justin bit his lip nervously, conflicting emotions warring in his head. He knew he wanted that man but he had no idea of  _what_  exactly it was that he wanted. He felt like a naïve teenager before his first sex-ed lesson and blushed as he realized he had no idea what it was that Brian would expect from him. Deciding, he wouldn’t find out unless he took the initiative, he stepped to the glass door and pulled it open a gap to squeeze himself through it.  
  
Brian felt the flush of cool air on his wet and exposed body and finally opened his eyes, focusing on blue ones with an intensity that made the blond shiver and visibly lose all of his bravado. Justin looked up and down Brian’s body, again unconsciously licking his lips. Brian was about to ask what the problem was, because the blond made no move to touch him, when he realized that, together with all his other memories, Justin had probably lost all recollection of the two of them together. This was as much a first time to Justin as it was five years ago. Brian changed tactics.  
  
“Go on, touch me,” he enthused with a gentle voice.  
  
“How?” Justin asked.  
  
“However you like.” Brian shrugged.  
  
Justin looked uncertain for a moment, then recovered his courage and raised his arms to press his hands against Brian’s pecs. He could feel Brian’s heart rate increase under his right palm. Encouraged, he moved both hands across Brian’s smooth and wet chest, his fingers brushing the nipples that reacted immediately to his touch and hardened in effect. Justin was amazed at the instant reaction his soft stroking produced. He let his fingers trace the ripples of Brian’s ribs and abdominal muscles.  
  
Brian rolled in his lips and bit down, wondering how far Justin would take his explorations. When the blond’s fingers reached his navel, they gently pulled at the fine hairs of his pleasure trail before sliding slowly lower, reaching his pubic hair. Justin hesitated and looked up, only to see Brian’s intent gaze still fixed on his face. Justin stared back into those beautiful eyes, noticing a slight change in their coloring. The green had almost disappeared, instead the brown hues had darkened, making the sparse golden flecks even more pronounced; the pupils were blown wide. Justin continued to drown in this swirl of color while letting his fingers entangle themselves in the coarse hair of Brian’s groin, scratching lightly at the skin beneath but fastidiously avoiding the stiff cock protruding from the center. Brian gasped and slowly exhaled as Justin continued to taunt him, letting his breath wash over Justin’s face.  
  
The blond enjoyed the power he had to make Brian gasp or hold his breath by a flick of his hand. He experimented by stroking lightly along the crease where Brian’s groin met his leg and was rewarded with a low moan Brian let out while throwing back his head. Encouraged and inspired by Brian’s reactions, Justin decided to taste the tempting expanse of skin at his eye level, and leaned in to run the tip of his tongue from the collar bone to Brian’s jaw. He felt the brunet’s pulse beat under his tongue and attached his lips to the very point, sucking lightly. Brian moaned in response, the vibrations reverberating through Justin’s body and making him smile.  
  
Feeling the soft and lush lips pressed against his throat, sucking on his pulse, made Brian almost forget himself and Justin’s condition. Remembering that he couldn’t just turn Justin around and push his body against the smaller one from behind, demanding release in the most intimate way possible, he groaned – partly in response to Justin stimulating his body and partly in frustration. His arms rose and he tangled the fingers of one hand into Justin’s soft and wet strands, pulling very lightly. Now it was Justin’s turn to groan while still lapping and nipping at the sensitive skin of Brian’s throat, the vibrations of his growl made Brian’s cock leak. Brian’s other hand spread between Justin’s shoulder blades, stroking slowly downward, his index finger tracing every bump in Justin’s spine.  
  
The action made goose bumps erupt all over Justin’s body and he responded by sucking harder on the skin between his lips, nipping occasionally with his teeth, but careful not to break skin. Brian’s eyes rolled back and he had to force himself to put a stop to the blond’s doings.  
  
“Stop,” he managed to murmur, but Justin either didn’t hear or refused to acknowledge him. “Justin, stop!” He pulled gently on the fine hair between his fingers and pulled Justin’s head back.  
  
The blond suddenly realized that Brian had stopped him and looked up confused. “Brian, what’s wrong?”  
  
“You’re marking me,” Brian said, panting slightly.  
  
Justin glanced at the slightly reddened patch of skin that his lips had been busy tormenting only seconds ago, before looking into hazel eyes again. “Am I not supposed to?” he asked, thinking he understood Brian’s predicament.  
  
“Not there,” Brian offered in response. “Nowhere a suit won’t cover,” he explained, once more reminded of the fact that Justin had no memory whatsoever of their life together.  
  
He silenced the pain that threatened to slice through his consciousness by directing Justin’s head towards his collar bone using the fingers still tangled in his hair. Justin happily attached his lips to the new spot and resumed his sucking while Brian stared with a blank expression at a non-exist point somewhere above the blond head, trying to get his mind back into the game. It was the strangest feeling ever. Justin’s skin under his fingertips felt so frighteningly familiar, as did his lips on his throat. But the tentativeness of Justin’s actions constantly reminded him that this wasn’t Justin – no matter how familiar the rest of his body felt. Brian shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that threatened to make him lose his mind.  
  
Commanding his brain to stop thinking, he quickly lost himself in Justin’s actions once again, tilting the blond head to the side slightly, so he could nibble on the earlobe, making Justin moan again, choosing to indulge in those sounds that he knew to read better than anyone’s.  
  
Justin allowed his instincts to take over as his fingers finally found Brian’s hardness and began to stroke him. Brian’s lips found his and came together in desperate need. Brian moaned into Justin’s open mouth and Justin drank up every sound hungrily. An insistent tongue slid past full lips, and explored Justin’s warm and wet cavity before retracting back. Brian caught Justin’s bottom lip between his and nipped on it with his teeth before sliding a soothing tongue across the abused mouth. When he drew back slightly to allow them both to catch a breath, Justin let his tongue snake out to trace the rim of Brian’s panting mouth, enjoying the taste and sharing his breath with him.  
  
When Brian felt Justin softly bite down on his chin, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He hadn’t had the pleasure of Justin’s company (or anyone else’s for that matter) for far too long and the slow tormenting movements of the blond were making him lose what little sanity was left. He thrust his hips forcefully into Justin’s hand, the surprise of the sudden move making Justin halt in his tracks for a moment. He caught himself quickly and applied more pressure as he encouraged Brian to thrust into his hand.  
  
Brian’s breathing hitched as he dissolved in Justin’s hands. The blond jerked him vigorously and Brian egged him on by setting a fast and hard pace. Supporting himself by a hand pressed against the tiles behind Justin’s back, his other hand pushing Justin’s face against his neck, silently asking him to continue to kiss and lick his throat, Brian surrendered to the onslaught of sensations and quickly spilled himself across Justin’s hand and thighs.  
  
Justin watched in amazement, jaw slack, as Brian’s hot cum decorated his lower abdomen and thigh before the shower spray had the chance to wash it away. Brian’s forehead was resting heavily against his own, his hot panting breath stroking across his face. Justin smiled, elated. He never imagined how satisfying it could be making a man like Brian lose control and spend himself so completely.  
  
When he deemed Brian able to hold a conversation again, he asked, “Can we do that again?”  
  
Brian had to smile at the enthusiasm of the young man and replied, “I think we should take care of you first, Sunshine.”  
  
Justin’s smile increased in voltage at that particular endearment that he was quickly falling in love with. Brian took his silence for assent and allowed his knees to finally give in, lowering himself in front of the blond.  
  
Justin, realizing what Brian was planning on doing, gaped at him open-mouthed. He realized that they were about to do something that they must have shared an uncountable number of times, but since he couldn’t recall any one of those, he was as nervous and excited as he could be.  
  
Brian nuzzled Justin’s balls, taking them in his mouth and rolling them around with his tongue, knowing it would drive Justin crazy that he was neglecting his hard and more than ready cock. As if on cue, Justin instinctively moved his hips to remind Brian of a far more pressing and urgent appendage in need of his attention. Brian smiled, recognizing, for the first time today, a hint of his old Justin. Relieved, and for the first time hopeful that all was not lost yet, Brian willingly parted his lips, allowing Justin to slowly glide inside. Having missed his scent and taste for too long, Brian sucked on the head of Justin’s cock, delighting in the rush of pre-cum that he forced out of the slit and the moan that escaped from Justin’s throat. Brian was suddenly reminded of how much he had missed this particular sound and all of the others that came with the package labeled ‘horny Justin’.  
  
Intent on eliciting all of the moans, groans, sighs, and gasps Brian knew Justin was able to produce, Brian doubled his efforts and sucked harder on the sensitive head. He let his tongue glide along the smooth rim, the familiar taste and feel of Justin’s cock a welcome relief on that very crazy day.  
  
Letting the head slide from his lips with a wet popping sound, Brian chuckled at the blond’s growl of disappointment. He attached his lips to the base of Justin’s hardness, exactly where the thick vein ran the length of Justin’s erection. Brian started out with light nibbling and sucking, eventually increasing the suction until he was mercilessly torturing the younger man. Justin’s head thrashed back and forth on the wet tiles behind him; he tried to buck his hips to dislodge Brian’s insistent mouth that was making him scream with a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure, but the brunet held his hips in a tight grip, making it impossible to move away from the exquisite torture.  
  
When Justin thought he’d pass out from not being able to take a breath, Brian finally let go of the base of his cock and enveloped the whole dick in his hot cavern, allowing Justin to slide all the way into his throat. He moved one of his hands behind the blond’s balls, positioning a finger at the perineum before pressing down firmly while at the same time swallowing around the engorged head down his throat. Justin’s muscles became rigid before he exploded inside Brian’s mouth, shouting his name hoarsely.  
  
Brian licked and kissed down Justin’s shaft until it softened and only then allowed himself to get up again. He thought about kissing Justin’s reddened lips, sharing his own taste with him, but decided to take it slowly. So he just stood there, looking at the young man, waiting for him to come to his senses again and open his eyes.  
  
When he finally did, Justin smiled – face relaxed and sated.  
  
“That was… Brian, that was… I have no words,” he whispered.  
  
“Hot. It was hot,” Brian answered, remembering Justin’s first night in his loft when the blond wouldn’t shut up before he’d recited all the synonyms of ‘amazing’ that he could remember.


	7. Chapter 7

Justin’s POV  
  
I don’t know how long I sat there, just staring at him. Time didn’t matter. Not only because watching him was entertaining enough that I didn’t notice it passing, but also because I seemed to lack any and every reference point that would make the passing of time noticeable. As it was, Brian kept my senses busy even while he slept. I’m glad he gave up his ridiculous idea of him sleeping on the couch last night. I don’t think I will ever reach the point where the sight of him could get boring, because the longer I look at him, the more new aspects of his beauty I seem to detect. He must have felt me staring because he starts to stir. A minute later he’s awake and looking at me. I wonder what he sees. I am sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the bed, clad only in a T-shirt. It must be one of his, because it is way too large for me. But I pulled it from the drawer that he said used to be mine. That’s the expression he used, ‘used to be yours.’ I didn’t ask, and I don’t think he noticed, but whenever he uses the past tense with me, it stings a little.  
  
“What?” Brian sleepily asks.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“You’re staring at me,” he declares.  
  
“I was just… taking in the scenery,” I answer him.  
  
Brian looks at me with that slight smile that seems almost shy and which I find irresistible. My hand cramps up a little and I have to flex it to straighten out the tense muscles. He notices. He notices everything.  
  
“You’ve been sketching too lo—” Brian starts but stops mid-sentence and looks around. There’s nothing there; I don’t know what he’s looking to find. He changes course and says, “There’s an old sketch book of yours in the drawer under the bed. I think there’s also some charcoal.” He adds the last part as an afterthought and lets his head hit the pillow again, closing his eyes.  
  
I don’t move, trying to make sense of what he offered. When I remain silent, Brian opens his eyes again and looks at me.  
  
“I draw?” I eventually ask, perfectly puzzled. I don’t move as I wait for an answer, and even stop rubbing my cramping hand.  
  
“You used to,” Brian replies in that semi-evasive way of his. I am still not sure if his fashion to answer questions without really answering them is the result of me not remembering anything or the result of something else. I’m not even sure if it is maybe part of his personality. I feel myself getting angry again, though at whom, I couldn’t really say. And Brian seems so… out of his element comes to my mind, but again, I can’t say for certain if my impression is correct. It’s aggravating to have to question every thought, every move, and every nuance of a reply.  
  
I wait, hoping he’ll offer more but he remains quiet. I flash back to his answer – another ‘used to’ reply. I never know which past his answers are referring to, but I decide to go with immediate pre-amnesia.  
  
“Was I any good?” I ask when I realize no explanation will be forthcoming.  
  
“Some people thought so, yes.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
Brian remains quiet for a moment, his eyes turning vacant, the way they usually do when people flash back to a memory. “You’ve asked me something like this once.”  
  
“What did you say then?”  
  
“I asked you if it would matter; if it would make you like your art better if I did.”  
  
I almost chuckle, adding this information to the puzzle that is Brian. “Do you always answer questions with more questions?”  
  
“I used to, yes.”  
  
“Past tense?” Again.  
  
“Talking things over is not one of the many qualities I’m known for,” Brian admits in an indirect answer.  
  
“No kidding!” I reply. I say it as a joke, but at the same moment, a penny drops so to speak and I think I understand him just a little better. It seems like such a simple insight, but I get it now: he doesn’t like to talk with words. Brian and the Justin that he knew must have had their own ways of communication. I stumble over my own thoughts suddenly when I realize I just referred to myself in the third person, but I am quickly distracted by another thought. I wonder if I still have this ability to communicate with him on this other level, and even though it’s unbidden, I can’t quell the alarm in my head of what will happen when it turns out that I can’t.  
  
I look at Brian again, hoping he didn’t see the panic in my eyes. He watches me carefully, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he smiles and purses his lips, as if contemplating his next move and I continue to watch him as he, apparently finally deciding to go through with it, rises from the bed and walks over to the closet, sliding the doors open.  
  
His obvious lack for a sense of modesty is fascinating on several levels, and I marvel at his flawless body that I remember so clearly from last night. While Brian rummages in the back recesses of his closet, I desperately try to clear my mind, not wanting to be caught staring openly at him with obvious lust on my face. I need to distract myself, so I begin to chatter away, hoping he’ll play along or at least that he won’t be able to read the expression on my face too easily.  
  
I start with the first thing that comes to mind. “I noticed my hand cramping, even in the hospital. Or rather itching. My fingers would twitch whenever I tried to remember something. It’s happened again yesterday night, when I watched you under the shower. And this morning, when I woke up. I thought it was a result of the accident, because it stings sometimes. Not really painful, just a pull, like a dull ache.”  
  
I am about to continue because he doesn’t say a thing, but stop when Brian’s head re-emerges from the closet, pulling out a rectangular packet. He sits down across from me, very much like he did in the hospital the other day and pushes the flat package into my lap.  
  
I look up at him and at his reassuring nod I start to unwrap the brown packaging paper. When I’m finished, I come face to face with a drawing of a sleeping, and very naked, Brian. I stare at the picture for a few moments, comparing the likeness, before glancing up and grinning, somewhat embarrassed. “I did this?”  
  
Brian nods. “You sure did,” he sounds proud and I have another epiphany. His being proud of me or something that I did is intoxicating. I can imagine how addictive the feeling can be.  
  
I go back to staring at the drawing again and my grin begins to slip as I remember Brian searching for it in the closet. “So, you must not like it very much,” I finally whisper, knowing that my eyes must be brimming with tears, but right now, I don’t care. Maybe I read his statement wrong? Maybe it wasn’t pride at all.  
  
“What?! I wouldn’t have bought it if I didn’t like it,” Brian exclaims. I would have doubted his statement if it wasn’t for the genuine surprise in his voice at the conclusion that I drew.  
  
But I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense. “You bought it? Why would you need to buy it? I’m sure I would have given it to you for free.”  
  
“Yeah, well… Things were different then,” Brian says evasively.  
  
“How?” I ask, but Brian remains silent. “Tell me!” I demand to know.  
  
He has this look on his face again, as if someone is trying to pull a wisdom tooth without anesthesia. He really, really doesn’t like to talk. Or maybe it’s my questions again that make this anguish appear on his face and mar his beautiful features. I noticed it yesterday already. He acts relaxed and cool most of the time, but every once in a while there would be this haunted look in his eyes. I’m too scared to think about it for the moment. I’m afraid that his ‘we can do it’ attitude is just a mask. I want to think that he really believes that we can do it. Because then I can too.  
  
But I need an answer to this question. I can’t help but think that if only I learn to understand him better, or us, or the us that he used to know, that everything will be okay again. That’s why I won’t budge on this one. I wait for an answer and it comes.  
  
“We’re not some ‘boy meets boy, they fall in love, happy end’ kind of story,” Brian finally presses out, and the tone sounds so foreign, almost frightening. It’s laced with… anger, and I don’t know why. And I don’t like to admit that it scares me a little.  
  
“So which part does not apply to us?” I ask him, choosing a question that is hopefully neutral enough that it will bring him down again. “We didn’t meet? We didn’t fall in love? We didn’t have the happy ending?”  
  
“We did meet,” Brian answers, “and you did fall in love but it’s slightly more complicated than that.”  
  
“Okay,” I agree, and try not to let on how pained I am by the fact that Brian excluded himself from the falling in love part. I want to shake him. He’s frustrating as hell and really not helping. His answers only raise more questions and with each one he grows more reluctant to answer them. He’s infuriating and I comb my hands through my hair, pulling at it a little in an effort to manage the quelling anger. But at the same time I feel this… what’s the right word? Challenge? Yeah, I think, that’s what it is. He’s challenging. Like a really complicated, but beautiful puzzle; and I’m intrigued to figure him out.  
  
He seems to breathe a little easier though now; probably relieved at my easy compliance and to have averted whatever sort of discussion was looming on the horizon. I’m not done with my questions yet, though.  
  
“You never answered my question,” I remind him.  
  
“What question?” Brian replies.  
  
“Last night, I asked you how long we’ve lived here together. We did live here together, didn’t we?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“It’s complicated,” Brian dodges the question again.  
  
“Everything apparently is,” I murmur under my breath, getting frustrated again. If he really were a jigsaw puzzle, now would be the time I’d throw it at the wall. But he promised me an answer yesterday and I believed him. I still do. “Are you going to answer me?”  
  
His shoulders sag a little as he finally caves and replies, “Five years, on and off.”  
  
I’m quickly doing the math – I wasn’t even legal when I moved in with him? And what’s with the on and off thing? “You didn’t like me being here?” I try to phrase it like a question, but I guess it comes out sounding more like a statement.  
  
Again, Brian is surprised at the conclusions I drew, if his tone is anything to go by. “How the fuck do you figure  _that_?” He has this thing that he does when he tries to hide that he’s hurt – he wraps it in anger, like he’s doing right now.  
  
I think about his question. It’s not that I think he’s easy to live with. Actually, judging by his underdeveloped communication skills, I’m quite sure that he can act quite the bitch. But we’re still together, or were before I left for New York. I am still unclear on what that was all about. But he says we were, or still are, together; even though we were living in different states. I can’t help but wonder if my moving to New York was the result of an ‘off again’ phase of our relationship. It’s weird though – the thought that I moved away. Whatever might have happened, I’m pretty sure I could never walk out on him and yet the evidence says that I did; so what sounds like the logical conclusion to me is that there are times where he doesn’t like to have me around. And this place – it’s  _his_. It’s definitely  _his_ , not  _ours_. Looking around the loft, I think about how to explain it to him. “I don’t know what I like or don’t like; I’m not sure what style I would prefer or what type of housing. But somehow a loft and these furnishings just don’t scream me. If you thought my drawings were okay, then why are there none of them on the walls? There are no framed pictures here, definitely none of me or you or even the two of us together. It’s too slick. Too cold.”  
  
Brian does that turning into a statue thing again. He freezes up, and it takes a second or two before he’s back in control. He swallows thickly and nods absentmindedly. I don’t know whether it is in silent confirmation because I have pinned him down perfectly or if it’s just an automatic response of his body while he’s thinking about a reply. His view strays to the bedside table. I wonder if he sees what I see in these objects. He answers eventually.  
  
“There is  _one_  picture,” Brian answers defensively, trying to distract from the obvious, and points to the framed photo of him holding a baby; a picture that stood half-hidden behind a clock on his chest of drawers. He leaves the bed and goes to pick up the frame, holding it out to me and I take it. Brian is beautiful in this photo. I couldn’t say when this was taken; whether it was years ago or months – aside from the slightly longer hair he’s sporting now he looks exactly the same.  
  
“Who’s the baby?” I ask and I think he’s not even aware of his own reaction. His face remains motionless, a forced kind of passive. And that’s what gives him away. Or not. But it’s what makes me look closer; I’d probably have missed it otherwise. He pales slightly, probably in shock, his lips roll in and once he thinks he’s got features back under control, he lets out a huffed laugh, but there’s no humor or amusement behind it.  
  
I don’t know what to feel. And for once it’s not because my range of namable emotions is extremely limited now, but because I can’t decide on a single one. There’s confusion, of course, but that’s always present anyway, so I don’t pay too much attention to it. There’s also guilt. His reaction tells me I should know the child in the picture. And I feel bad because it’s a baby and it feels like I’m letting it down; kinda like it feels like I’m constantly letting Brian down. Only it’s worse, because it’s a little child. It’s maddening to think about. I feel helpless and angry – this is all so unfair.  
  
I was so fixated on Brian and myself and how we both were going to deal with my not remembering. Somehow the thought of other people being affected by the situation never made it into my head. Especially not that one of those people could be a little kid. And I have no idea who it is. This is frustrating as hell.  
  
I glance at the framed picture again, giving the baby a closer look. I can’t see much of it. A boy, probably. He’s cute, like all babies are cute. There’s nothing there though. I don’t feel a connection to him. I know I should. This much I can deduce from Brian’s reaction. And I’m sorry. I really am. I want to tell Brian that. But I don’t want to say anything that will hurt him; well, hurt him  _more_. So I just wait for his answer, my eyes still glued to the photograph. When it comes, it’s a single word.  
  
“Gus.”  
  
He speaks the name slowly and there’s a look of expectation on his face that he can’t and doesn’t try to hide.  
  
 _Gus_. Doesn’t ring a bell. Doesn’t ring anything, actually.  
  
“Gus?” I ask.  
  
When it becomes obvious that there’ll be nothing forthcoming from me, Brian’s face becomes a mask again.  
  
“Yeah, Gus,” Brian says, and adds, “my son.”  
  
I think my jaw slacks, but before I can make any kind of sense of that piece of information, he fires another blow.  
  
“You named him.”  
  
He says that last part with a strain to make it sound aloof and indifferent as he turns and walks toward the kitchen counter at the same time, also seemingly carefree. I know that’s just an act though, just as I know that my mouth is really hanging open now.  
  
He expected me to remember Gus. Maybe not in a conscious way, but somewhere inside he expected me to remember; expected me to remember naming him. Hell, if I’d allowed someone to name my kid, I’d expect them to remember too. I hate to see Brian in pain. I hate to be the one causing this pain. And I hate that I don’t know how to make it better. I bite my lip nervously, contemplating if I should follow him. Eventually, I do. I need coffee to think clearly.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin slowly made his way towards the kitchen where Brian was pouring coffee for himself. He heard Justin approaching and glanced back, raising an eyebrow in question. At Justin’s nod, Brian picked up another cup and filled it, passing it over the counter to the blond.  
  
He watched as Justin took the offered beverage and sipped from it. He scrunched up his nose and Brian asked, “Milk or sugar?”  
  
“Both, please?”  
  
Brian nodded and used the moment while he had his back to Justin to frown. Justin liked his coffee black. No, he corrected himself, Justin  _used_  to like his coffee black.  
  
“So you have a son,” Justin finally stated, as the silence grew into awkwardness.  
  
“Yes.” And before Justin could ask more questions, because Brian was sure that more were coming, he explained quickly, “His mother is a lesbian and a friend who asked me for my sperm. Gus lives with his mothers. I’m just a drop in dad.”  
  
“He doesn’t ever visit you here?” Justin wondered and looked around, hoping to find something that would make this place look lived in; would make it seem less like a page out of Architectural Digest.  
  
Brian knew what Justin was searching for as he watched the blond’s eyes dart back and forth across the loft’s open space.  
  
“I prefer my space uncluttered,” Brian answered, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself. Justin’s questions were natural. He couldn’t fault him for that. But in his naïveté, he managed to cut Brian with a word or a statement without realizing it.  
  
“So, it’s not  _our_  space then,” Justin reasoned, drawing his conclusion from Brian’s reply.  
  
“That’s not what I meant…” Brian started, his tone growing somewhat aggravated, before he controlled himself again. And while he welcomed the change of topic, he was still a little thrown about the whole not remembering Gus incident. Even though he hadn’t thought about it, Brian had realized that he had been hoping against hope that by some invisible force Justin would still be able to remember Gus. Somehow the fact that Justin couldn’t, seemed even worse than the fact that he couldn’t remember him.  
  
“What  _did_  you mean?” Justin asked with genuine curiosity.  
  
Brian was at a loss. He wasn’t sure how they ended up in this particular conversation. He was rapidly losing control over where they were headed. “You’re right. You wouldn’t choose this kind of place to live in. You told me once you’d prefer a mansion, with—”  
  
Justin interrupted, “…stables and a pool.”  
  
Brian looked at him curiously and smiled. “Yes. You remember?”  
  
Justin frowned. “No… I don’t really know where that came from.”  
  
Brian nodded, careful not to show his disappointment. He had no problem reminding himself that it’s only been 24 hours since the accident – too early to expect any memories triggered back into existence, even though he kept hoping against hope to the contrary. It was  _believing_  in the idea that being in the loft would change anything that he was beginning to have difficulties with.


	8. Chapter 8

Brian listened to the messages on his answering machine, deleting most of them but saving the one from Daphne who had called because she received disconcerting news from her friend Tasha. She wanted to know how Justin was doing and why she wasn’t able to reach him on his cell phone; that’s why she had to revert to calling Brian’s loft, Daphne concluded her message on Brian’s machine. Brian made a mental note to call her back after placing a few calls himself first.  
  
First he checked up on Gus, exchanging a few words with his son and explaining why he couldn’t yet come for a visit. After Gus returned the phone to his mother, Brian explained in short what had happened but ended the call quickly to prevent Lindsay from expressing her sympathies.  
  
He wasn’t exactly sure how, but Brian knew that by some miraculous force Debbie, and thus the rest of the family, would eventually hear about what happened. To prevent them all from invading the loft with all their well-meaning and offers of help, he called each and every member personally, to warn them to stay the fuck away. After the third call he had developed the amazing talent to tell the story in only a few short sentences while at the same time making it painfully clear that their butting in would not be helpful or welcome right at this moment.  
  
Brian even called Tasha to give her an update on Justin and his whereabouts and to assure her that he’d continue to pay Justin’s part of the rent until Justin was well enough to return to New York and their shared apartment. She, in return, promised to fill in the gallery and Justin’s two employers from a coffee shop and a restaurant on his whereabouts and to make sure he’d be able to return to his jobs once he felt better. Next Brian called Daphne who was, understandably, freaking out and considering flunking classes in order to drive to New York. After Brian filled her in, he sighed deeply, picking up the phone one last time. He saved this call for last, knowing it would be the most difficult one to make and dreading the reaction.  
  
“I called your mother,” Brian said matter-of-factly when Justin emerged from the shower a couple of minutes later, a towel around his waist.  
  
“I have a mom?” Justin asked wide-eyed, looking so much like a child, Brian had to look away.  
  
The brunet only raised his eyebrows at that.  
  
“I have a mother,” Justin stated, nodding, trying to get a feel for the idea. “Mom,” he tried the sound of the word. Suddenly looking at Brian, he asked, “Do I like her?”  
  
“She’s your mom,” Brian offered.  
  
“I know. But do we get along? You know…”  
  
“Yes, you do. You like each other. She loves you. You talk to each other. You go shopping together.”  
  
“Okay.” Justin nodded again, but scrunched up his face in concentration. Brian wasn’t sure if he was trying to remember something or if he was just dissatisfied with his answer.  
  
“Why don’t you just wait until she’s here and make a picture for yourself?” Brian tried to be helpful.  
  
“She’s coming over?” Justin asked with a slight panic in his voice.  
  
“She’s worried sick. I told her you’re fine physically. But she won’t rest until she sees it for herself. She also hasn’t seen you in almost a month, so she misses you,” Brian answered, trying to quash Justin’s panic. He tried to understand what it would feel like to meet a person who you were supposed to have a close relationship with but to have no feelings towards that person. Brian was getting frustrated just thinking about it and could only hope that Justin would either remember very soon or, otherwise, find a way to deal with it. Because if there was anything Brian was sure of, it was that he had no idea how to help Justin connect with a person who was supposed to be his mother. This was not an area he considered himself an expert in.  
  
“But what do I say to her?” Justin was still panicking.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything. Let her speak.”  
  
“Can you tell her not to come? Can’t I meet her some other time?” Justin’s voice was pleading.  
  
Brian walked towards Justin, taking both his hands in his. “I know this must be crazy, to be meeting your mother for the first time. But, Justin, you’re not obliged to be or say anything. Just let her get a look at you. Smile a time or two, say ‘yes, I’m fine, mom’ and then excuse yourself with some accident related bullshit. Tell her you’re tired and need to rest or something. This will be over sooner than you think.”  
  
“You know her that well?” Justin freed a hand and thrummed his fingers nervously on his chin. This habit was new; Brian didn’t remember ever seeing Justin do that and cringed at the realization. He calmed himself down again immediately, however. It was probably something Justin had picked up in New York. Nothing to worry about.  
  
“Your mother is a really nice lady. She’s a WASP. She’ll be polite and give you space when you need it.” He didn’t add that she had experience in coping with a traumatized son.  
  
“You like that in a person, don’t you? Someone who respects your need for space?” Justin asked, surprising Brian with the insight.  
  
“Wait till you’ve met the rest of the family. You’ll learn to appreciate this rare quality too.” Brian smiled fondly, thinking of Debbie, Emmett, Michael & Co. At Justin’s panicked face, he added, “Not today. You’re not meeting them today.”  
  
Justin nodded and even smiled as he watched Brian relax a little. It was nice. Ever since they woke up and all during breakfast, Brian had been extremely tense. Sometimes, Justin knew it was his questions that were causing Brian’s uneasiness, but other times he wasn’t so sure. Every now and then, Brian would zone out for a second, staring at him but almost looking through him. Justin tried not to freak out at that.  
  
“Why don’t you get dressed? I’ll go make a fresh pot of coffee. Your mother will probably want some.” With that urgent need, Brian excused himself, leaving Justin in the bedroom. He could wear his old sweatpants and t-shirt that he used to paint in, for today. Soon they would need to go shopping for clothes for him. Brian mentally scheduled a trip to the mall for the next day while he made his way to the kitchen.  
  
He knew he was beyond helpful, but he just couldn’t keep looking at Justin. Every time he looked into the blond’s face, he saw someone he didn’t know. He saw a lost boy instead of the man that he used to live with and whom he had asked to marry him, and he couldn’t help feeling dirty, as if he was taking advantage of said boy. He tried to remind himself of last night, of the shower they had shared together where Brian thought he had spotted a glimpse of the old Justin. But all it did was made him feel like a child molester, and something worse he couldn’t put into words yet.  
  
When Justin finally emerged from the bedroom, dressed in his old painting attire, Brian did a double take. The body was so familiar, but the person inside the clothes was a stranger, making the paint-splattered shirt and pants seem almost like a costume. Brian watched Justin take a seat at the kitchen counter and couldn’t help but stare. He thought he recognized the walk, the little turn of his head when Justin tried to shake his hair out of the way, the way he folded his arms on top of the counter. But that was just surface. Beneath it, there was a stranger that Brian didn’t recognize even remotely. The gesticulations might have been the same, but they lacked Justin’s fluidity and essence. The hand that scratched his forehead was the same, but it was soulless and without the childish playfulness; a hollow shell. Justin’s appearance fucked with his mind and he kept himself busy, trying to avoid looking at him too often.  
  
Justin noticed Brian’s behavior and it stung deeply but why, he couldn’t explain. Driving purely on instinct, he kept the conversation going, asking question after question. He wasn’t sure if he was craving the information Brian disclosed to him, or if he was trying to peel Brian out of his shell, desperate to see anything else in the hazel eyes than hopelessness and disappointment that were slowly making their way onto the brunet’s features and chasing away the confidence that had been visible on his face the day before. Or maybe it was simple sadness, Justin thought. He didn’t deem himself competent enough to recognize the distinction at the moment.  
  
“So, the rest of the family – who’s that exactly?”  
  
“A whole bunch of people. There’s Debbie – she sees herself as the mother to all of us.”  
  
Justin nodded to signal his understanding.  
  
“Then there’s Michael. He’s Debbie’s son and has been my best friend since I was fourteen and my parents moved to the Pitts.”  
  
“Where’re your real parents?” Justin interrupted, noticing that Brian hadn’t even mentioned them once.  
  
“As far as I’m concerned, Debbie’s my real mother. But to answer your question, Jack, my father, died some four or five years ago. Joan is still very much alive. I only hear from her when she needs money. I also have a sister, Claire, but we never really got along. I don’t even know her exact address right now. She’ll holler though as soon as she needs money as well.”  
  
Justin nodded again, thinking about what Brian had told him. It was apparent from the way Brian spoke about his blood related family with no emotional attachment that he was long done with them and Justin wasn’t going to push the issue further. “What about my father?” he asked instead. “You only ever mentioned my mom. Is my father dead, like yours?”  
  
“No, he’s alive. But he hasn’t been your father in a whole while.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“’Cause he’s an asshole. A homophobic asshole.”  
  
“So, we don’t get along because he doesn’t like the fact that I’m gay?” Justin asked.  
  
“Something like that, yeah.”  
  
At the blond’s raised eyebrow, Brian elaborated, “He’s a jerk who had you arrested the last time you saw him. He’s tried to kill me, twice. He cut you off when he found out about you being gay and divorced your mother, who, by the way, is better off without him. Your stepdaddy is way cooler anyway.” Brian smirked in amusement.  
  
“Huh?” Justin didn’t understand Brian’s sudden change of mood and Brian launched into the story of Jen and Tucker, bringing a smile to Justin’s face as he delighted in detailing the age difference and Justin’s first reaction to his mother’s new boyfriend. Justin laughed wholeheartedly and Brian reveled in it, because unlike his gestures, and some newly acquired quirks, Justin’s laugh still sounded exactly how Brian remembered.  
  
“How old are  _you_?” Justin asked, coming back to the topic of age differences.  
  
Brian glared at him, good mood gone suddenly. The stare made Justin laugh again.  
  
“I see. A sensitive topic, I get it,” Justin amended.  
  
“No,” Brian denied, “it’s just unseemly to ask people about their age.”  
  
It only made Justin snicker louder. “I thought that only applied to ladies.” Again, Brian glared at him and Justin tried to soothe the injured ego. “Come on, Brian, you can’t be that old! I’d say you’re about thirty, in your early thirties at best.”  
  
“Thirty-four,” Brian admitted and Justin smiled his thank you. Brian had expected Justin to react to their age difference, but it didn’t seem to matter to him and Brian breathed with relief.  
  
When Justin’s questions turned into the direction of his college education, Brian’s answers became more guarded. In hopes to pass the time, Brian spent a while elaborating on the defeat of an evil politician and the triumph of The Concerned Citizens For The Truth. Justin smiled at Brian’s ability to tell a true story like it was a storyline from a comic book. He wondered if Brian used to read comics when he was younger and, not wanting to interrupt, made a mental note to ask him later. They both studiously avoided talking about the plan of action for the next days and weeks, both knowing they had to talk about doctors, therapists, and the like eventually, but making a silent pact that today was not the day to do so.  
  
Brian spent the next half hour waiting for Jennifer and trying to dodge Justin’s many question while at the same time being as informative as he could. Trying to come up with answers to the most seemingly mundane inquires was a more difficult task than he’d originally anticipated. Justin’s too logical reasoning also made him realize that the past five years could not be easily explained to someone who hadn’t been there or, in Justin’s case, had no memory of being there. Brian kept his answers on the surface, seldom delving deeper. Because how did you explain the need for tricking without sounding like the worst asshole the world had ever seen? How do you make someone understand that you could be in love with him without ever putting it in words? And more importantly, how would you explain repeatedly and purposefully hurting the one person you claimed to love? No, those were not the things Justin needed to hear on his first day after the accident. Nevertheless, Brian felt drained. Avoiding potentially hot topics was exhausting, because he had to think two steps ahead when giving an answer. All Justin knew about Brian’s history was the little facts he had told him before and Brian wasn’t about to relate to him all the gory details of growing up in the Kinney household. He would not tolerate pity from the blond. Besides, he never believed that was what had made him into who he was today anyway. Even Brian himself wasn’t sure why he had done some of the things that he had. He didn’t regret anything per se, he just wasn’t about to relive his many mistakes and failures.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin’s POV  
  
I thought it was easy: One person asks the questions, another gives the answers. Nothing’s easy with Brian. I ask a question, he gives me the gist of  _one_  possible answer. I get the feeling that to every question he answers there are thousands of things he’s not telling me. At first it drove me mad, but then I simply gave up. Me asking the questions and him answering them is obviously not the course of action; though what is – that we keep our silence about. I guess at some point I will have to go see a specialist. But I’m not going to be the one to bring that up.  
  
Brian breathes with relief when the buzzer sounds and hurries to let Jennifer inside; I can’t start thinking about her as  _Mom_. Right now, in my mind, she’s still Jennifer to me. Introducing a mother to her very own son can only be awkward, to say the least, and Brian looks like he wants to flee the scene. Who can fault him?  
  
Jennifer’s nice though. And polite, just like Brian predicted she would be. When the introductions are done, she gets a good, long look at me. She presses her hand to her mouth and sighs, “Oh, Justin.” I see tears well up in her eyes and it’s strange. I don’t factually know her, but it’s nice to know that there’s this person who cares about me, loves me, wants me to be okay. I see some semblance between the two of us. Don’t know if I would have seen it if I hadn’t known she’s my mother. But I see it. It makes me… well, not comfortable exactly, but somehow less uneasy around her. That’s nice too. She extends her arms towards me. I know she wants to hug me, but she’s careful to do so, as if asking for my permission first. My first instinct is to back away, but then I stop. Why not? She seems nice, and I think I could really like her. I nod slightly and take a half-step in her direction. Her arms come around me, one hand smoothing my hair. She feels like… she’s… I don’t know. She feels like a mom when she holds me like that. I don’t know why it surprises me so much.  
  
When she lets go, I glance at Brian. His face shows surprise too, but I think it’s for different reasons. I don’t know why though. He motions to the sofa and we follow him, Jennifer sitting down on the edge of it, me on the opposite side from her. Brian gracefully plops down in the chair across from us. We start with some small talk. She wants to know how I’m feeling, whether I’m hurting anywhere. What the doctors said, if we consulted with some specialists yet. Okay, so maybe not exactly small talk, but the conversation flows and it’s easy. She’s easy to talk to. Brian was right – she doesn’t press, she changes the topic when she sees I’m getting uncomfortable. After a while, Brian stands up and moves to the other side of the room where his computer is. He throws me an assuring glance as he passes me and squeezes my shoulder. I know he wants to give us some resemblance of privacy, as far as such is possible in a loft like this. I guess he hopes that talking to Jennifer will trigger some memories or at least provide me with some much needed answers. And I suppose he wants to remove himself from the situation to give me the comfort of asking whatever it is that I want to know.  
  
“You really don’t remember anything?” Jennifer asks for the third time, I think.  
  
I shrug and shake my head while smiling apologetically at her. “Nope. The doctor said familiar things might generate some flashes of memories, but I got nothing yet.”  
  
“I wish I could do something,” Jennifer says and wrings her hands. She looks around the loft, not really looking for something, just taking it all in. I wonder if she sees what I see – this is not a home; this loft is a suit of armor and I’m guessing Jennifer has no problem recognizing it as such. She’d probably like nothing more than to take me home with her. But this place is where Brian is. So that’s where I will stay.  
  
She glances in Brian’s direction and he pretends not to notice. She’s been doing it every couple of minutes. First I didn’t get why. I thought it was because she was unsure. But I think I begin to understand and it makes my skin crawl.  
  
“Maybe we should look into a clinic that specializes in taking care of amnesia patients,” Jennifer suggests and confirms my earlier suspicions.  
  
“No!” My reaction is understandably vehement. “Jennif… Mom,” I correct myself and she smiles indulgently, “Mom, I don’t need a clinic. It’s only been a day. Give it time.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re comfortable here?” Her tone of voice implies that she suspects that I’m not.  
  
Another glance at Brian. This time, I’m sure that what I see in those glances is not accusation alone, as I first suspected. Part of it is, but it’s laced with helplessness. She keeps looking at him with that expectation in her eyes. I don’t know what she expects him to do though.  
  
After another couple of minutes, Brian suddenly gets up and walks over to the seating area. He addresses us both when he speaks, but his eyes focus only on my mother. “I’m going to go grab some lunch for us.” Then, turning to me and bending down a little, he whispers in my ear, “You’re gonna be okay for a while here with Jen?”  
  
I nod. He kisses my forehead which for a reason that I can’t explain strikes me as terribly wrong. It’s natural that he’d keep his displays of affection toned down with my mother around, right? Only, ‘toned down’ is not an expression I would have ever applied to Brian. I let the thought go though and wait till he’s out the door before addressing my mother again.  
  
“Why did he leave?” I ask bluntly and I see Jennifer visibly flinch at my change of attitude towards her.  
  
“Honey,” now it’s my turn to cringe as she uses the endearment, “you heard him. He’s just gone to get some lunch.”  
  
“Bullshit,” I explode suddenly. Jennifer is surprised, to put it mildly. But not surprised as I am. “It’s not his fault I can’t remember.”  
  
“I never said it was,” Jennifer replies in defense.  
  
“No, not with words. You accused him with your stare.”  
  
She opens her mouth and closes it again. I remain silent. It’s her turn to speak. “I didn’t mean to. I think we all came to rely on Brian to fix things. It’s still a little… it’s still something that we need to get used to that this,” she gestures towards me, “is not something he can fix.”  
  
I think about what she said. Brian fixes things – yes, that sounds terribly familiar. “Who’s ‘we all’? And why is it Brian’s job to fix things?”  
  
She takes a deep breath before launching into an explanation that I hope will lead me somewhere closer to my goal. I want my life with Brian back.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Brian breathed in a lungful of fresh air and searched his pockets. Lighting a cigarette, he slowly made his way to the deli two blocks down the road from the building. He held the smoke in his lungs, wishing it was a joint, and released it again, waiting for its calming effect. At least the joint would have numbed him somewhat. He couldn’t stand feeling like this.  
  
He had expected Jennifer and Justin to stumble through a mostly one-sided conversation; Jennifer asking questions and Justin shrugging whenever he didn’t know the right answer. But it hadn’t been like that. Sure, Brian had noticed Justin struggling to address Jennifer appropriately. He didn’t think him at fault for that. Brian barely could bring himself to call his own mother ‘Mom’; he imagined saying it to a complete stranger must be infinitely more difficult. But, aside from that, the conversation hadn’t been forced or awkward.  
  
Listening to them talk, Brian had felt more uncomfortable in his skin with every passing minute. He couldn’t stand Jennifer’s glances. He knew she was asking him to do something, silently willing him to take charge and formulate a plan, a strategy, anything. He couldn’t help her. There simply wasn’t anything that he could do and he felt guilty because of it, though reasonably he knew that it wasn’t his fault. But those looks… they were the worst. No, he amended, the helplessness he felt towards the entire situation – that was definitely the worst part of it all. That and the fact that the more he looked at Justin, the less familiar the person inside seemed to him.  
  
There had been a time when Jennifer would have fought Brian; would have fought with him about who was better equipped in healing Justin, in taking care of him. She didn’t do this anymore. From the minute that she asked him to take her son, she never again questioned his place in Justin’s life. Or gave in to illusions about hers. It was as though she had handed him over the reins and now that he was just as helpless as she was, she deemed him unworthy. Hell, he deemed himself unworthy too. And he wanted to flee. And he did, leaving Justin in Jennifer’s care. Christ, he hadn’t even been able to kiss him properly. He’d been almost grateful for Jennifer being there. But he just couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t dealing with Justin but with a person pretending to be him. That’s why he’d needed this break so badly. He needed to clear his mind, hoping to get rid of those disturbing thoughts. A minute alone would give him time to think, to recharge. Jennifer wasn’t the only one who had lost her boy.  _Again_. No, he refused to think of him as lost. Misplaced. Justin was still somewhere inside that person who was the new Justin; he’d just have to dug deeper to find him.  
  
However, Brian was ready to admit defeat in one point: Justin, the Justin that Brian had known and loved, was, at least for the moment, gone. That was becoming achingly apparent with every passing hour and Brian had to give up the hope that he had placed on the whole being around familiar surroundings thing. But that was okay, Brian assured himself. He would admit this much. Wasn’t that part of every great battle strategy? To sacrifice one battle ground in order to gain another?  
  
Brian flashed back on the conversation they’d had before breakfast. He’d barely managed to deal with the fact that Justin was able to forget Gus. Now, remembering the talk that had followed the one from this morning, he fully realized the impact of Justin forgetting that he was an artist. Brian sure as hell wasn’t an expert, but how was it possible to forget such innate talents; though, after last night, Brian could attest to certain other ones. Had he lost the talent to paint, to draw, to create as well?  
  
Brian wondered how many more things were buried so deep in Justin’s brain now that he didn’t have access to them anymore. So far, only Brian had seemed familiar to him. Brian had hoped, without thinking consciously about it, that, somehow, this sentiment would extend to the loft as well. But it didn’t. Justin had told Brian that the loft seemed cold and impersonal. Brian swallowed thickly, remembering the hurt he had felt at Justin’s words. How Justin had, unwittingly, pinned him down perfectly. He remembered his view straying over to the bedside table – the top of the line alarm clock, his cell phone, top notch of course, a lighter beside the cigarettes, polished silver, expensive; objects grouped together on the elegant surface of the bedside table – cold, sleek, smooth, sophisticated – everything that Brian wanted to be on the outside; everything that Justin refused to be blinded by from day one. The ragged, sharp edges of the interior design were only softened by Justin’s presence. The blond brought color into the too cool, too impersonal space. When this Justin,  _his_  Justin, was no longer there – then who would Brian eventually become? Brian wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around to find out. No. In their very own, very weird, and very dysfunctional way, they functioned best  _together_. So that’s what he had to do. Brian reviewed the situation, mapping out the new battle field. Okay. He figured, if he was going to enter the fighting arena, he’d need all the facts and information he could gather.  
  
Bailing was not an option; considering it wasn’t one either. He entered the deli shop, ordered and waited for the food to be wrapped. The way he saw it, he was left with two alternatives, Brian contemplated while slowly walking back to the loft: Move mountains, if needed, to get the old Justin back or get used to the new one. Brian’s life depended too much on Justin, as much as he loathed to admit it.  
  
When Brian received a phone call from Jennifer not twenty minutes later, it was to inform him that she had left and to ask him to return to the loft. Brian heard the strength it required her not to sob into the phone.  
  
“He asked to be alone,” Jennifer said. “I told him I’d wait till you were back, but he said he wasn’t a child anymore who needed a babysitter. So I left.” She paused. “I’m of no use, Brian,” Jennifer said. “He doesn’t remember me and right now, he doesn’t want to. You’re all he can think about. Goodness, some things will never change, will they?” She muttered with a slight exasperation in her voice and a chuckle that lacked humor.  
  
Brian didn’t judge her for losing her patience. How could he? Wasn’t he the one who fled the loft as soon as he could? He couldn’t be angry with her, just as he refused to be angry with himself. He had needed a break, and now he would go back there and take charge of the situation, determined to deal with it.  
  
“As soon as you were gone, he started bombarding me with questions about you. You should go back there. You’re the one he wants, the one he’s interested in knowing or remembering. More than he’s interested in remembering himself. You’re the one. Still, and again. Go back home. Help him. You’re the only one whom he’ll let,” she added softly before ending the call.


	9. Chapter 9

Justin’s POV  
  
“Sunshine!” Debbie exclaims the moment Brian and I step through her door. I flinch at the shrill tone, but a supportive hand on my back makes me relax. Brian warned me about the family; described each and every member in detail. I asked him to. He told me that they’re all anxious to see me, to see for themselves that I’m fine. Well, as fine as I can be under the circumstances. It’s been a week since Brian brought me back to Pittsburgh and he was doing his very best to keep the family at bay and me cocooned in the loft that was slowly becoming a fortress, but eventually they’d have climbed the walls to get a peek at me – Brian’s words, not mine; so it was decided that a Friday night dinner at Debbie’s would be the easiest way to deal with them all at once.  
  
Brian pushes me gently into the gaudy living room, glaring with a warning look in his eyes at Debbie at the same time. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do. I know he watches me with a hawk’s eye, constantly on the lookout for any unease on my part. Not just tonight, here at Deb’s. It doesn’t matter where we are; he never lets his guard down. God, we’re so fucked up. He watches out for me, ready to jump in when he thinks he’s needed. And I silently watch out for him, wanting to make him think that I’m okay, that he doesn’t need to worry. Sometimes, he even watches me sleep. I woke up a few times with his eyes on me. He always acts like he’s only been awake for a few moments, but I learned to recognize the difference in his voice – it sounds deeper when he just woke up. I’m not sure what he’s watching out for; if he’s waiting for me to get better or to break.  
  
In the week that has passed – actually, it didn’t pass, it dragged – I met with three experts on amnesia: a neurologist, a psychologist, and a psychiatrist. I haven’t been able to retrieve one single memory so far, but all professionals are telling me not to expect wonders – it’s only been a week after all. They say a week is too short a time to predict a prognosis yet, but they have no idea how much can change in a week. And they’re not the ones suffering from amnesia. Their heads and lives are not empty. They have obligations, jobs, families, and millions of other things to keep them occupied. They’re not me; they don’t know how long a week can be, because all they see is  _only_  seven days. But to me they’re seven days without the slightest inkling of familiarity. The city feels foreign, as does the loft. I feel like I’m not in the right place, but my rational mind tells me I am. Only, my rational mind is not the one driving. Those experts – they have no idea what it’s like to feel like you live among strangers and what it’s like to constantly need to remind yourself that this is supposed to be your home. Or what it’s like to feel nothing at the word.  _Home_. It’s supposed to mean something, right? Not to me, though. No tingly feeling, no foreboding, however vague, no flashes, not even a moment of confusion or irritation, no nothing. To me, this week felt like half a lifetime. Or an entire lifetime, in my case.  
  
And those specialists with their glasses perched on the tip of their noses and their sympathetic voices and their understanding looks, they aggravate me. None of them makes promises. And I understand it’s because amnesia is this mysterious condition where anytime anything can happen, but it feels like they want to abdicate from their responsibility in case I remain this hollow shell. It’s their way to justify charging horrendous amounts of money for an hour’s work. And Brian pays for everything, not even batting an eye. And I feel guilty because he spends all this money and I can’t give him a validation for it. I know both our hopes that things would quickly get better have taken a severe beating. Or maybe we simply adjusted our expectations to make them comply better with the reality of things. And the reality is that Brian keeps paying, even though it seems that he won’t get anything in return.  
  
  
“Don’t just stand there,” Debbie says and gesticulates for us to come inside. “Come in, sit, sit,” she summons.  
  
She’s an impressive character, Brian wasn’t wrong about that. At the first sight she seems like a freak, or a badly dressed drag queen, but she exudes affection and warmth and her eyes are soft. She’s not scary at all, contrary to my first impression of her. She’s nervous though and keeps wringing her hands, pulling at her hair that I suspect is a wig, and adjusting her apron. Her hands are busy like she doesn’t know what to do with them. I realize something and plaster what I hope is an encouraging smile on my face. She beams and takes a step forward to hug me, giving me a light squeeze which I return tentatively.  
  
“Baby, we’re so glad you’re okay,” a voice interrupts our timid embrace. I look up and search for the person who spoke and see a wide smile on a tall and lanky person, dressed just as brilliantly as Debbie. At my unrecognizing stare, he introduced himself, “Emmett, but you usually call me Em.”  
  
One by one they all make the introductions and Brian supplies an explanation to the relation here and there. After that’s over, there’s a difficult silence, but Emmett breaks it.  
  
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he says.  
  
I smile at his enthusiasm and for the first time since we walked in notice a delicious aroma in the air, wafting in from the kitchen. Emmett must have seen it on my face because next he says, “Yeah, there’s nothing like a home cooked meal. And Deb’s lasagna is world famous.”  
  
Brian pulls up an eyebrow at that and Emmett amends, “Well, maybe not  _world_  famous, but it should be.”  
  
“Ma’s a really good cook,” Michael confirms. “Besides, you can’t live on take-out alone.” He obviously knows Brian well. Or his eating habits. We have been ordering take-out a lot.  
  
“Some can, some can’t,” Brian answers back. I’m not sure what he means by that.  
  
Michael rolls his eyes and replies, “I wasn’t talking about money, asshole.” Oh. I understand now.  
  
The money topic doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t sit well with me that Brian’s paying for everything, not just the take-out meals or the medical stuff, but the rest as well. Am I not supposed to pay at least part of it too? It’s prompted a talk, or rather an argument, already.  
  


  
<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“Are you rich?” I asked him when he opened another letter containing a bill and put it onto the ‘to be paid’ pile. There were all kinds of bills – phone, insurance, et cetera. One of them was the bill for my hospital stay. If this loft was my home too, then those bills should be my obligation as well, I figured. Were we living some kind of a Sugar Daddy relationship? This thought weirded me out too much to contemplate any further.  
  
“Depends on your definition of rich,” Brian replied. I was getting used to him never giving direct answers. It was becoming a game that I sometimes found amusing, but most of the time just frustrated the hell out of me.  
  
“Are you rich by your own definitions?” I retorted.  
  
“I can and do afford a certain lifestyle.”  
  
“Can I?” I asked.  
  
“You’re working on getting there.”  
  
“With my art?” I may have sneered a little when I said that. He’d told me by now that Justin… I meant I, had left for New York to pursue a career in art. I wasn’t sure what my stand on that was yet, but Brian jumped onto my reply immediately.  
  
There was a stern tone to his voice. “Don’t say it like that!”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like you think you should have gone to Dartmouth and gotten a business degree instead.” A business degree? And why Dartmouth specifically, I wondered. But Brian wasn’t finished yet. “You’re an artist. Never let someone talk down to you because of that. Not even yourself. Understood?”  
  
I could only nod gravely.  
  
“You’re an artist,” Brian stated again, as if to make it sink in. Whether he was trying to convince me or himself – I wasn’t sure.  
  
“I  _was_  an artist,” I mumbled.  
  
“Are,” Brian insisted.  
  
Maybe it was the long day, maybe it was his insistence to remind me of the Justin that I used to be before this all happened, but I was suddenly too tired to keep up the energy to continue.  
  
“Whatever,” I said. Brian stared at me after that and, for a moment, there was a spark in his eyes and I thought he’d argue the point with me, but then it was gone. Brian just stared and I knew he wasn’t going to say anything more. I wondered what he’d seen.  
  
From then on, my muttered ‘whatever’ became the point where every conversation would flatline. No matter how agitated or heated the discussion had been before that, at my ‘whatever’ Brian would always stop, stare, and change the topic.  
  


  
<>>>><<<<>

  
  
What Justin didn’t know and Brian wouldn’t tell him was that Brian could handle him being a brat. He could deal with Justin when he was so angry that he thought it could be cured by carrying a gun. Or so bitchy that it made Brian long for his pre-twink days. He could handle a high-as-a-kite Justin, or a public service announcement know-it-all. He could deal with all kinds of Justin. But he didn’t know how to approach a Justin who just gave up to a point where he didn’t even argue about it anymore. Brian felt like a fish out of water. He was completely torn, not able to decide how to best deal with this new Justin. None of the specialists they visited could give him an answer. In his despair, Brian had even called Dr. Pereira from the Brooklyn Hospital Center. But the medic hadn’t been a help either. Brian had been angry after the phone call and were it not for Justin in the next room, he’d been tempted to throw around some things. Brian felt completely alone and could only watch things develop. He simply couldn’t get it in his head how the new Justin could be so completely different from the old one. It was not like Justin to just throw the towel. No matter how hard Brian tried, no matter how much he challenged him in a conversation, they would always reach a point where Justin would just shut down, unwilling to discuss the matter further. It was so unlike him, it scared Brian a little. He was used to Justin arguing his point, sometimes just for the sake of the argument. He wouldn’t back down from his position, even when both of them knew that he was wrong; but Justin would continue to argue the point just because he didn’t want to admit defeat. The new Justin, however, didn’t even try to put up a fight and Brian was having difficulties adjusting to this new characteristic trait.  
  
Memory-wise the week had been long and disappointing as well. Brian had pressed and exhausted all his contacts to get appointments with the most renowned specialists in the greater Pittsburgh area. All of them failed in his eyes. It wasn’t like Brian had expected them to work wonders, but he had expected  _something_. The neurologist scheduled a neuronal mapping for the upcoming week to determine which brain areas were most affected and would set a course of treatment once the results were in. One of the other two professionals suggested hypnotherapy while the last recommended general counseling, seeing as scan images from the hospital didn’t show any physical damage and concluding that the cause for the condition must be of psychological nature. As long as the different methods of treatment weren’t interfering with or detrimental to each other, Justin suggested continuing with all of them, even though Brian could see that Justin didn’t like going to the appointments. Brian was a little worried that Justin was pushing himself too hard, but his own desire to see improvement was too pronounced to say no.  
  
Brian knew that Justin felt the change between them. He knew that the week had been a slight setback not just for him but for Justin as well. It was becoming apparent that getting Justin’s memories back would take more time than they’d originally anticipated, that it was a more complicated process than they’d expected it to be.  
  
Whenever not in a doctor’s office or in a waiting room, he and Justin had settled into an uncomfortable routine of informative small talk and careful avoidance tactics on Brian’s part. It was slowly getting to him that he needed to pay attention to what he said. He was used to speaking his mind and having to think about his words before speaking them was really taking a toll on his energy resources. But he feared that exposing Justin to every little detail of their life together might cause him to retreat further into himself. He knew too well that their fucked up relationship was not easily understood. He’d lived it and he still wasn’t sure how they ended up where they had. There was no sense in taking the risk of confusing Justin more when he was already confused enough.  
  
On the Monday following their arrival in Pittsburgh, Brian had called Cynthia, quickly filling her in on what had happened and taking the week off. He needed to be there for Justin, to take him to appointments, show him around the loft and point out where everything was stored, and in general to make sure that he was okay. Justin was still not feeling comfortable enough in the loft to be left alone, even though he constantly proclaimed that he was. Jennifer had called on a daily basis to get a status update and offered to stay with Justin whenever Brian felt he needed to return to work. The first few times she’d offered it, Brian had turned her down. However, recently he started to consider it because eventually he would need to go back in; he could only relinquish control of Kinnetik for so long before the idiots from the art department would fuck up things beyond repair. Also, several clients demanded their accounts being handled by Brian personally, so he needed to put in an appearance every once in a while to be able to continue charging them indecent amounts of money.  
  
When weekend finally arrived, they were both dispirited and irritable and Brian decided they needed a break. They had been so caught up in the logistics and treatment methods of amnesia, they forgot to just be. Since the family hadn’t stopped calling daily, some of them more often than once, Brian thought it a good idea to show up at Deb’s Friday night dinner to appease them all while at the same time give them both a distraction. He didn’t count on the evening being just as laborious and exhausting as a day at the office.  
  
“Well, whadd’ya know. He’s alive after all!” Debbie had greeted him on the phone.  
  
“Deb,” Brian had replied, a slight warning not to press it, in his tone.  
  
Deb had changed tactics as soon as she heard the tired undertone of his voice. “Brian, honey, are you alright? How’s Sunshine?”  
  
Brian had shaken his head.  _Sunshine_. Yeah, how was Sunshine? Or more importantly –  _where_  was Sunshine? “I honestly don’t know,” Brian had answered, knowing that the double meaning would be lost on Deb.  
  
“Maybe you should stop barricading yourself inside this loft of yours,” Debbie had suggested. “Let me come over and bring some food. Nothing that a chicken soup can’t cure,” she had added cheerfully, not really meaning it, but Brian appreciated the try nonetheless.  
  
“Tell you what, Deb. You can cook, but at your house. We’ll be over for Friday night dinner.”  
  
“You will?” Deb had answered surprised. “That’s great, honey. I’ll make Lasagna. Sunshine loves my lasagna.”  
  
Brian sure hoped so. “Deb,” Brian began, “you all, and I mean all of you, will have to tone it down a little. No pitiful looks, no ‘ooh’s or ‘aah’s, no smothering Sunshine to death.”  
  
“Brian, I do know how to behave,” Deb had replied, taking what Brian had said personally, as she knew he’d intended.  
  
“Yeah, why don’t you all try to remember it then on Friday, alright?” Brian had closed the topic tiredly.  
  
After exchanging some more banalities, they’d ended the phone call and Brian was left contemplating the past few days.  _Sunshine_. He let out a dry laugh that sounded more like a scoff. He’d almost forgotten he’d used to call Justin that.  
  
Even though Debbie was thrilled when Brian had called to inform her of their plans, Brian was apprehensive, not knowing if Justin was up to meet all of their friends. He’d spent hours relating to Justin all the information he’d need to deal with every member of their family at once. Justin wanted to go. Brian knew that Justin felt discouraged by the lack of improvement and was ready to grasp at straws. Meeting Brian’s friends was one of them.  
  
After the initial surprise and another round of awkward introductions, the evening flowed pretty easy. Their extended family started out reserved and subdued, all of them glancing surreptitiously in Justin’s direction whenever they believed themselves unwatched. But eventually the conversation and jokes were as raunchy as on any other similar event. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Justin was not his usual sunny self, Brian would have forgotten that something was wrong.  
  


  
<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin’s POV  
  
Brian’s mind is miles away again. He’ll do that sometimes – just zone out. Something that he sees or someone says triggers something in his head and he’s gone for a few moments. Am I delusional or megalomaniac to believe that it’s almost always about me? I’m pretty sure though that most of the time it really is. I see it in the way he looks at me afterwards, when he’s back in the here and now again. It’s okay. This whole amnesia thing is hard on both of us. I know that. He’s got his coping techniques, and I’m developing my own. The only thing that I need to know is that he believes we’ll get through this. And I believe him.  
  
Tonight though, I want some distraction. I have no expectations for this evening; the fact alone that we’re out of the loft is already enough. It was getting crowded in there. The things Brian and I talked about as well as those we have begun avoiding are taking up a lot of room. Being here, even though these people that call themselves a family are practically strangers to me, is good. I hope to soon be able to slip back into a routine that we must have had before all of this happened. With Brian being mentally absent for now, I look around the unfamiliar faces; some of them affectionate, others evaluating, or simply curious. But gathered in Debbie’s living room, they all try to act normal, whatever that means.  
  
You never know how handy instinct is until it becomes the only thing you have to fall back on. On a subconscious level, I just know whom to trust and around whom to be careful. I liked Emmett from second one, couldn’t really place Theodore in a drawer yet, but couldn’t help but to remain guarded whenever I had to deal with Michael. I’m not sure if I find the many years of his friendship with Brian intimidating or if it is my general inability to rely on anything from the past when talking to him. It seems like instincts are the only thing I can rely upon, since actual memory keeps eluding me. I catch a few of the glances Michael throws Brian’s way, though I’m not sure Brian even notices, he’s so busy fixing all the guests with a glare. Those glances of Michael are a mix of poorly disguised pity and an obvious demonstration of support, accompanied by an occasional hand on Brian’s shoulder. I’m not sure I like this parade of support, but I scold myself the next second. It’s nice to know that Brian has friends who care for him, especially after what he told me about his blood-related family. Besides, I reason as I try to keep my jealousy in check, I don’t think Brian even notices Michael’s touches; his palm rests on my thigh the whole time. I have to wonder whether Brian ignoring Michael’s condolences is customary for them or if Brian just doesn’t have the time to notice them because he’s got to take care of me, like I’m an invalid or something. Not for the first time this week a thought comes to mind again: What if this is permanent? I haven’t thought it further than that yet. I’m scared to contemplate the possibility. So I try my best to quash it.  
  
Just like I did every day in the past week, I remind myself again, that it had only been three days, five days, one week. We were still adjusting, still finding our way. I should not expect too much, we shouldn’t rush things. Give it time. It was becoming my mantra that I was getting sick of. Like time mattered! Please! I would never say this to Brian, because he would freak, but if there is something that I learned in this past week that I didn’t know before, at least I think I didn’t know it before, then it’s this: hope is a fragile thing and despite what any specialist might say, it is dependent on time more than anything else. With every day, hell, with every hour that passes, it just fades.  
  
I wonder if Brian feels the same. But I know we won’t talk about it. I won’t bring the topic to the table. I don’t want to indulge in negative thoughts. Luckily, Debbie calls us all into the kitchen right that moment.  
  
“Move your asses to the table before the food gets cold,” Debbie’s voice booms the order from the kitchen.  
  
Everyone gets up immediately. I glance at Brian who motions me to follow. I don’t know how we’re all supposed to fit around the comparatively small, round, food laden table, but surprisingly we all do. Everyone digs in at once, the talk never ceasing once.  
  
“So, can you imagine how disillusioned I am now?” Emmett complains to Ted and Ben who, judging by their facial expressions, are only mildly interested in Emmett’s pain. “I mean, it’s the Hollywood Walk of Fame! It’s supposed to be glamorous and sparkly, the crème de la crème of the movie land, the magical kingdom, immortalized in stone. But now I find out that everyone can apply. Literally, everyone. All you have to do is submit your résumé and an application fee of 25,000 dollars.”  
  
“Everyone?” Ben asks skeptically.  
  
“Well, everyone in the biz,” Emmett admits. “But still!”  
  
“It doesn’t say that they admit every application. Or that they set up a star in their honor for everyone who does,” Ted tries to be helpful.  
  
“No, you don’t get it, Teddy. It takes the magic out of it,” Emmett closes sadly.  
  
“Sunshine, you’re not eating anything,” Debbie suddenly interrupts and all eyes around the table focus on me. I feel slightly uncomfortable being the center of attention and quickly fill my plate with a generous serving of lasagna. It doesn’t seem to satisfy Debbie though, so I take a bite. It’s good. Really good and I tell her so. Debbie beams proudly at the compliment. And even Brian seems more relaxed. I noticed he’d been holding his breath. I’m not sure why though.  
  
“You might try making it yourself sometime,” Debbie continues. I’m confused and it must have been showing on my face because Debbie explains next, “You know, I think I have the recipe written down in the book I gave you.” I have no idea what book she means.  
  
“I like to cook?” I ask with a side glance at Brian. He just shrugs and lets Debbie answer.  
  
“I wouldn’t say it was your hobby, but you liked to try your hand at some of your favorite dishes every once in a while.”  
  
Huh, I wouldn’t have pegged me as someone who cooks. But suddenly, I have an idea that makes me smile. Fortunately, the discussion moves from me on to other topics and I recline in my seat, content with watching the gathered family, content to be able to just watch. I feel relieved not to have to talk anymore, so I just listen in on the conversations around me. Spending every minute that I wasn’t in therapy in the loft has almost made me lose my mind. I still don’t feel at home there and I know that Brian knows and I know that it throws him a little, but I can’t help it. So Brian’s walking on eggshells around me and that really is not helpful.  
  
The first few days, I often thought that Brian was keeping secrets from me and my mind went overboard with conjuring up scenarios of what it could be that Brian didn’t want me to know. Eventually though I realized that Brian wasn’t hiding something  _from me_ , he was hiding  _himself_. And though it left me just as clueless as before, I can accept the tendency of needing to protect one’s own feelings from being trampled over. And I do realize that in my curiosity to know things, I sometimes do exactly that. So I try to be careful too. I also know that, in spite of me being the patient here, I’m not the only one suffering from the effects of memory loss.  
  
It took me a while, but eventually I realized that he’s not only doing it to protect himself. He’s also protecting me. He protects me not only from family and whatever else he thinks might happen to me if he’d allow himself to let his guard down for even one second. No, he also protects me from our past. There are bad memories that concern the both of us. There must be. No couple goes through five years of relationship without some bad blood. I don’t know what those things might be in our case, but I think I could take them. Brian doesn’t seem to agree. He avoids talking about problems we might have had like the plague. Doesn’t he realize that it just makes me imagine the worst things? I must have gone through every possible scenario like a thousand times. The worst thing I can imagine is him not wanting me anymore, but maybe I’m not creative enough. Whatever he keeps from me couldn’t possibly throw me like he thinks it would, could it? I cannot have an answer to that question without having all the facts. But I force myself to trust in his judgment, though I’m not sure if I should on that one. But right now, I don’t have a choice.  
  
I tried to engage Brian in conversations hoping to hear more about our life together without actually asking about it and usually Brian would relay the information to me freely. But sometimes, he’d get that look in his eyes and I could practically see him retreating into his inner core and I would know that the conversation was over for the moment. I figured by now that some questions provoked this reaction but I still haven’t figured out a pattern to them. Being here at Deb’s, with people around us who have known him for so long, with people who have known  _us_ , makes me grateful. It releases Brian from the obligation to hold a conversation. So when the initial small talk around the table eases into a more unreserved discussion, I am happy to pay attention and listen. It’s a way of scouting out the terrain without the fear of somehow catapulting Brian out of his safe place.  
  


  
<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Brian watched quietly, not engaging in the small talk around him. He wasn’t much of a talker anyway, so that wasn’t something that made people notice as long as he supplied a caustic remark every now and then. Things were _almost_  normal with one major difference: It wasn’t that Justin was tacit or anything, he just wasn’t the center of attention. Brian realized how for granted he took the fact that the conversation was usually revolving around something that had to do with the two of them. Still, it was nice to see Justin smile genuinely while he listened to the noisy crowd. He even laughed once or twice, looking happy and carefree and Brian found himself staring at the blond in fascination. He noticed his body visibly relaxing in proportion to the voltage of Justin’s smile. For the first time in a week, Brian could see a shadow of his Sunshine in the young man beside him. He smiled with renewed hope.


	10. Chapter 10

Brian came home early. He had been dawdling around in the morning, silently telling himself that he’d make up for the lost time by staying in the office longer. He only managed to stay till three in the afternoon. However, he congratulated himself on not calling the loft every twenty minutes like he did his first day back in the office. He hoped that Justin had no surprises planned for him tonight.  
  
The day before, Brian was greeted by thick foul-smelling fog when coming home. He’d called ahead to let Justin know that he was leaving the office and would be home in about fifteen minutes. He hadn’t expected to find his kitchen in perfect disarray while an upset Justin was frantically trying to clean up the mess in time so Brian wouldn’t see. However, even if he would have managed to clean the pots and pans, the smoke that still lingered under the ceiling would have been a dead giveaway.  
  
“I’m sorry, Brian, I’m so sorry,” Justin had almost sobbed.  
  
Brian had taken him in his arms, using the moment to assess the mess in detail. “What were you trying to do?” he’d asked.  
  
“Cooking dinner.” Justin had sounded totally desolate.  
  
“But we usually order in,” Brian had replied.  
  
“I know. But I wanted to surprise you. Debbie said I used to cook. So I thought, maybe it would come back to me once I started.”  
  
“Where did you get the ingredients?” Brian had asked.  
  
“From the grocery store a couple of blocks from here.”  
  
“You left the loft on your own?”  
  
Justin had bristled at that. “I’m a big boy, Brian. I know how to use directions and a check-out line.”  
  
Brian hadn’t said anything in return. Justin had already been dismayed enough.  
  
“I’m sorry I ruined your kitchen,” Justin had apologized again. “He liked to cook and I thought if only I could do the things that Justin did—”  
  
Brian had interrupted at that. “You  _are_  Justin!” he’d implored, but his voice had lacked conviction and so had Justin’s affirming nod.  
  
The incident still fresh on his mind Brian was tempted to check up on Justin every hour. But he only called twice - once around midday, using the excuse of explaining to Justin where to find the take-out menus so he wouldn’t starve and once about ninety minutes later to make sure Justin had eaten. The aggravated tone in the blond’s voice had told him enough about what an annoying mother hen he was being, so he’d stopped calling after that.  
  
Upon entering the loft, Brian searched the room with his eyes, spotting Justin at the kitchen counter. The moment he noticed what it was that Justin was holding, he rushed over, slamming the bottle of pills out of Justin’s hand with one arm and holding his wrist in a tight grip with the other.  
  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Brian almost screamed, beside himself with rage. He was glaring at the two tablets in Justin’s palm that the young man was still clutching.  
  
Justin looked at him, clearly shaken and needing a minute to come up with the answer. “T-t-taking something against my headaches?” He informed Brian in a small voice, not understanding why this was such a big deal. He’d only taken two pills out of the bottle. So it wasn’t like he was running the risk of over-medicating.  
  
“You trying to kill yourself? It’s Tylenol!” Brian exclaimed, still outraged.  
  
“Yeah…?” Justin replied slowly, stretching the word in uncertainty.  
  
“You’re allergic to Tylenol,” Brian pressed out between clenched teeth, enunciating every word.  
  
“Nobody’s allergic to Tylenol,” Justin contradicted, irritation clearly readable on his face.  
  
Brian’s face relaxed a little at that and he released the death grip on Justin’s wrist. He let his head hang for a second before looking up and taking a deep breath.  
  
“You are,” he told Justin.  
  
Brian sighed deeply. For a blissful, though scary, moment, he’d forgotten. He collected himself and walked to the bathroom, picking up a different bottle and coming back to the kitchen, handing Justin two pills.  
  
He held the bottle up to Justin’s line of vision. “These are your pills. Those you can take. How the fuck did  _that_ ,” he glanced to the discarded bottle of Tylenol on the counter, “even get in there? Where did you get the bottle?”  
  
“Found them in your nightstand drawer. I took a nap after lunch and woke up with a headache. I looked around and found them there. I didn’t think about looking in the bathroom after that,” Justin apologized, though what he was apologizing for, he wasn’t sure. “I didn’t know.”  
  
“I know you didn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, you’re allergic to a whole lot of shit.” Brian launched into an extensive explanation, followed by a demonstration on how to use an epi-pen in case Justin forgot and making him memorize where those were stored. He also showed Justin the shelf in the bathroom cabinet where all of Justin’s various medications were neatly lined up. Brian explained which were for his headaches, which for his pollen allergies, which for his migraines, and so on.  
  
When Brian was finished, Justin asked, eyeing the amount of medical supplies, “Did I use to have headaches often?”  
  
Brian pursed his lips and contemplated his answer. “Yes. Are the pills helping or do you need the ones for the migraines?”  
  
“No, it’s okay now. It was bad though. They seemed to radiate from a single spot.” Justin absentmindedly moved his hand to the side of his head.  
  
Brian took his fingers in his own hand and moved them slightly, threading them through blond hair and pressing gently against his scalp. Justin moved them a little and thought he could feel the traces of a scar. He looked up at Brian questioningly who was looking silently at him, a big question mark in his blue eyes.  
  
“You were attacked…” Brian swallowed hard and continued, “Bashed. Someone hit you in the head with a baseball bat.”  
  
Justin just stared at him, not sure what he was supposed to be feeling. “Who?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” Brian shrugged. “A jock. Someone who didn’t like gays; or maybe liked them too much for his own taste.”  
  
“I knew him?”  
  
Brian nodded.  
  
“What did I do?” Justin asked.  
  
Brian seemed to gain energy again as he tore into him, “You did nothing! Nothing! He was just a homophobic, brainless asshole.”  
  
Now it was Justin’s turn to nod.  
  
When Brian realized, Justin was not going to say anything, he offered, “I can tell you what happened if you want.”  
  
Brian never offered to tell him something from the past willingly, so Justin jumped at the opportunity and nodded enthusiastically. Admittedly, Brian only gave him the condensed version, but he didn’t leave out the fact that he’d appeared at his prom and danced with him. The rest of the story, though horrendous and frightening, sounded to Justin like something that happened to someone else. When Brian finished, Justin was staring wistfully into space, wishing that he could remember dancing with Brian. They must have looked beautiful, Justin thought.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin’s POV  
  
The doorbell rings and I frown, pressing the mute button on the TV remote. So far Brian has done a great job keeping the vultures at bay – again, his expression, not mine. First I thought it harsh, now I know not to take him too seriously when he talks about family. I know that he loves them all. No matter how well he tries to hide it. And they look up to him. I’ve seen it too, while we were at Debbie’s. After our expected appearance at Friday night dinner, it seemed like they had eased up on Brian. The phone didn’t ring as much anymore.  
  
The day before, I received a call. But I knew that it was coming. Brian had told me that Daphne would be calling. Apparently, Daphne is or was my BFF and since my accident she’s been talking to Brian occasionally. From what Brian could tell me we used to hang out a lot; I even lived with her for some time, though Brian refused to elaborate on the reason for my moving out of the loft. What other facts he couldn’t tell me was not because of his unwillingness to do so but because he simply didn’t know a lot more. The call was awkward but thankfully short since we hadn’t much to say to each other.  
  
But that was yesterday and since Brian is at the office right now, I do wonder who might be at the door. Nobody called ahead. My mother is planning on coming for a visit tomorrow and Brian didn’t tell me that anyone was coming. Probably just some delivery, or so I hope.  
  
I figure out how to let someone in – Brian’s intercom system is freaky high-tech, as is everything else in the loft. I wait at the door, keeping an eye on the elevator. It doesn’t move though; instead, Emmett appears on the stairwell, half jumping, half dancing as he reaches the landing.  
  
“Baby!” he exclaims, grabbing both my hands with his. He looks me up and down, pulling first at one, then another arm to look at my behind. “I’m,” he finally says, stretching the ‘I’ into infinity, “taking you to lunch.” He scrunches up his face then. “But not in this.” He lets go of my arms and wiggles a finger at my paint-splattered sweat pants and equally stained t-shirt. Those are the most comfortable clothes I own in this loft and I like to wear them. They remind me of an earlier version of me.  
  
But I think I’m momentarily stunned into passiveness. Emmett pulls me through the door and shuts it, heading straight for the bedroom and the closet. “Let’s raid your closet,” he suggests, unnecessarily because he’s already doing it as he speaks.  
  
I just stand there, completely dumbfounded, and let him. I’ve only seen him once and that was at Deb’s. Now he’s acting like we’re long lasting friends. Huh, maybe we are. He’s entertaining, that’s for sure. I decide to play along. He throws a side glance at me, his forehead in lines. “Are those yours?” He asks me, focusing back on the clothes in the closet; he’s obviously confused. Join the club, my friend.  
  
“Ehmm, yes,” I answer, unsure of why he asks.  
  
“Those are so… unlike you.” He looks me up and down again.  
  
“Brian and I went shopping a few days after he brought me back. I didn’t have too many clothes here. Apparently, they’re all in New York,” I relate to him the facts.  
  
“I see,” Emmett drawls. “You let him choose, didn’t you?” He smirks and I nod.  
  
“I didn’t know what I liked and it seemed easier.”  
  
“No need to apologize,” Emmett says. I didn’t realize I was apologizing, but I guess I was.  
  
“So,” I begin, “what did Justin like to wear? I figure linen pants and button down shirts were not it?”  
  
Emmett looks at me funny before he shakes his head. I notice that I did it again – referred to myself in the third person. I’ve done it a couple of times when Brian was around. I did it unintentionally. I don’t know why. Or maybe I do. The more I learn about the old Justin, the more he becomes a fully-fledged person, the more it becomes clear that I am  _not_  him.  
  
But Emmett thankfully doesn’t remark on my slip of tongue. Instead, he answers my question. What do you know – it  _can_  be that easy, I almost chuckle.  
  
“Well, your style was more… casual. You preferred cargo pants and t-shirts. Nothing as fancy as this,” he explains while holding up a Hugo Boss jeans that cost more than a regular person makes in a week.  
  
“Oh, thank god,” I breathe out.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” I hurry to explain. “It’s just… I know I couldn’t afford those clothes. It made me think about what else Brian was used to paying for.” I still haven’t gotten around the money issue.  
  
Emmett nods knowingly. “You’ve gotta hold your ground with him, baby. He likes to take care of things way too much. Gotta learn to say no to him.”  
  
I smile. Probably for the first time today. “Have you ever tried to say no to Brian?” I ask him.  
  
He laughs at that. “Okay, I see what you mean. But you did better than any of us, just remember that.” His face freezes in horror as soon as he says that. I smile to signal that it’s alright.  
  
“It’s okay, Emmett. Actually, it’s kinda refreshing to be around someone who doesn’t weigh every one of his words.” Emmett smiles tight-lipped and there’s an uncomfortable pause after that. “So,” I say eventually to break the silence, “did I say ‘no’ to Brian often?”  
  
Emmett’s face lights at that and his cheerfulness makes a reappearance. “Oh, boy, did you ever!” He picks up an outfit and throws it my way. “I’m gonna tell you all about it. But first you gotta put that on, so we can go out and clog our arteries with the best greasy food this town has ever seen. I assume Brian doesn’t order pizza or burgers too often?”  
  
I shake my head in confirmation and grin as I change into the clothes he selected.  
  
This ought to be great. Brian had started going back to the office a couple of weeks ago and ever since he returned to work, I’ve been stuck in the loft. I was slowly getting used to the new routine, but I have difficulties filling my days when I didn’t have any doctor’s appointments. Brian tried to help. He got out some of my old sketch books and a few pencils. He didn’t say anything, just left them on the desk, probably hoping to appear inconspicuous. He wasn’t. I know he hoped I’d remember that I used to paint. I didn’t and after a week of them just lying around untouched I think he gave up the hope for that now anyway. I simply cannot touch them. They seem too personal and it feels like I’d be invading  _his_  privacy – Justin’s. I realize that’s fucked up, but I can’t help it.  
  
My thoughts return to the task at hand as I finish dressing and return to the kitchen island where Emmett has been waiting for me. I’m glad he’s taking me out and I’m actually looking forward to see more than just the four walls of the loft. Plus, he’s easy to talk to and seems willing to answer questions – something that I stopped asking Brian. I consider that a bonus as I follow him out the door.  
  
“Oh,” I suddenly remember, “I’ve gotta tell Brian that we’re going out. He’s gonna freak if he comes home early and I’m not there.” After the first few days, Brian stopped coming home early. In fact, lately he’s staying at work longer every day. But I don’t want to risk scaring him out of his mind in case he decides to show up early today.  
  
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve already called him while you were getting dressed. He’ll meet us at the diner in a couple of hours.”  
  
“Emmett?” I hesitate to ask.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Did Brian set you up to this? Did he ask you to take me out?”  
  
Emmett throws his head back and laughs. “No. No, he didn’t. I take all the credit for this brilliant idea.”  
  
I’m strangely relieved.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Brian’s POV  
  
I pick up the phone, surprised to see Emmett’s number. He knows better than to call me during office hours. Besides, he never calls me. He’ll barge in unannounced sporadically, but he never calls.  
  
“Brian, I’m taking Sunshine out to lunch,” he informs me and waits. I suppose he wants a sign of acknowledgment or something.  
  
I grunt my agreement. I should have thought of that. But lately, I can’t think of anything that doesn’t pertain to doctors or treatment methods. Every day, I stay at the office longer than the day before. Justin probably thinks I’m trying to avoid him. I’m not. I just can’t concentrate on my work. I spend hours researching better therapies, better physicians, hospitals, or simply reading research papers. Michael even gave me the contact information of a Chinese Herbal Shop. If they can make Justin better with some horseshit tasting brew, I’m willing to try. I paid them a visit yesterday, during an extended lunch break. I don’t know what it is that still keeps us moving, ‘cause it sure as hell ain’t hope. We’ve passed that point some days, no, probably weeks ago.  
  
I tell Emmett I’m going to leave work early today and he suggests meeting them at the diner. Figures they’d go there. Christ, he forgot everything else, why couldn’t he have forgotten his love for fat- and carb-loaded greasy food?  
  
Emmett and I exchange some more words – a couple of warnings from me, a few impatient reassurances from him. I think I can feel him roll his eyes through the phone line. I don’t comment on that.  
  
After we disconnect, I lean back in my chair, my thoughts returning to Justin. The old Justin, as I’ve started mentally calling him. There’s a simple truth that’s been swimming just under the surface since the moment the accident happened; a truth that has been showing its head repeatedly in the past weeks: I miss him. I miss Justin. It’s a different kind of missing him than when he was still in New York. At least, when he was there, I could call him. I could send him an email. I still find myself doing just that every once in a while, before I remember that he’s not there; that he’s in the loft. Right before I remember that it’s not really him.  
  
That’s usually the point where I allow myself a shot from the wet bar and call it a day.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Three weeks after that, Brian and Justin packed their overnight bags and jumped into the Corvette, heading for West Virginia. They didn’t talk much on the half-hour long drive, both of them lost in their own worlds.  
  
Brian had grown tired of pretending. It was taking up too much of his energy to smile and nod and encourage and spout reassuring pep talk that didn’t mean a thing and nobody believed in anyway. He was feeling like the sleaziest scum on the earth’s surface for thinking like that, but he couldn’t help but feel useless. Nothing Justin had tried so far was helping. With the exception of outdated and barbaric electroconvulsive shock therapy, they had exhausted every treatment possibility. They had already run out of hope and options, but neither of them dared to voice the simple truth. So they both kept pretending. Worst of all were the family’s words of encouragement and moral support. Brian was so sick of all those petty phrases and thought his head was going to explode if he had to thank any one of them one more time.  
  
When Justin voiced his fears to his psychiatrist, mentioning the tense situation caused by the family’s expectations, the doctor suggested a change of scene. At first, Justin had been hesitant. He still clung to the idea that being around familiar places and familiar faces would help him remember. But when the pressure became too much and he felt like coming apart at the seams, he voiced his concerns to Brian. He also informed Brian of the suggestion that his psychiatrist had made. Brian had jumped onto the opportunity and took one week off from work, leaving Ted and Cynthia in charge of Kinnetik once again.  
  
Brian hoped that staying in a place that held almost no memories for Justin would take the pressure off the whole issue. He knew that they both needed to let go of the belief that being in familiar surroundings might help trigger something back into consciousness because, evidently, that hadn’t been the case so far. Eventually, all of them, including Justin’s therapists, realized that being around their various family members with their unvoiced expectations was detrimental to Justin’s healing and was blocking his mind. Maybe the escape to the house in West Virginia, as Brian kept referring to it, would set something in Justin’s mind free. The brunet focused with all his might on quashing the little voice inside his head that was laughing at him and his foolish refusal to give up the last bit of optimism.  
  
Justin on the other hand was excited to finally see the place that Emmett had told him about. Since that Friday night dinner at Debbie’s, Emmett had fallen into the habit of visiting Justin in the loft every couple of days, sometimes taking him out to the diner or a café. Justin was grateful to have a friend he could talk to since it seemed he’d run out of things to say to Brian that didn’t cause the brunet to swallow dry a few times before answering. Justin didn’t know if Brian realized that they had ceased talking almost completely, limiting their conversations to relay how their respective day had been. Justin hoped and prayed that this would change once they got out of Pittsburgh. He welcomed the change of scene.  
  
Since no one of their family had ever been to the country manor before, Justin had to fall back on what Emmett could tell him from what he remembered of Justin’s gushing before the accident. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“Emmett, tell me about Britin,” Justin asked his friend once again. It wasn’t an uncommon request. Justin liked to hear stories about his and Brian’s past. And the house was one of his favorites because he didn’t have all the facts about it yet.  
  
“What do you want to know?”  
  
“Tell me how I named it.”  
  
“Well, you’ve had a nice record going for you naming things. And from what I hear, the house must be ginormous. And everybody knows that a fairytale mansion like this needs a name,” he said in a tone like it was the most obvious thing to know.  
  
“Don’t you think it’s too sappy to combine Brian’s and my name?” Justin asked.  
  
“I think it’s romantic. Like Gone With The Wind romantic,” Emmett answered dreamily.  
  
“Seems so…” Justin stopped.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s so out of character for Brian to just go and buy us a house. And then there are moments where I think it’s perfectly logical.”  
  
Emmett smiled. “It’s Brian’s way to take care of the people around him. You two needed a bigger place, he’d gone and bought it.”  
  
“Just like this? Why didn’t we just go look for bigger apartments?”  
  
Emmett started fidgeting with his napkin.  
  
“Em?” Justin asked. “What are you not telling me?”  
  
“Nothing, baby.”  
  
“You’re a terrible liar.” There was a pause, before Justin added, “He asked you not to tell me anything, right?”  
  
“No,” Emmett stretched the word, and amended, “It was more like a threat.”  
  
Justin laughed mirthlessly. Just as he suspected. “He’s such a fucking control freak,” Justin said.  
  
“No, baby. He’s just concerned. We all are. You know, it’s just how he takes—“  
  
“…care of people, I know.” Justin interrupted him, sighing deeply.  
  
“Just let him take care of you. It makes him feel less useless,” Emmett tried to help at Justin’s sad expression.  
  
“And who’s gonna take care of him?”  
  
“Brian doesn’t need anyone to take care of him,” Emmett objected.  
  
Justin didn’t say anything, but he knew this was where Emmett was wrong. He’d spent the last days watching Brian break and was almost appalled that nobody else seemed to notice.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
When they neared the house, Justin looked up and, immediately recognizing the house from the stories that Emmett had told him, muttered, “Britin.”  
  
Brian’s head shot up as he was pulled from his reverie. “What did you just say?”  
  
“Huh?” Justin resurfaced. “Oh, Emmett told me that’s what I’ve been calling the house whenever I talked to him about it.”  
  
“Oh.” Brian sagged back into his seat. For a fleeting moment he had thought that Justin remembered something. “Okay, we’re here then,” Brian announced with false cheerfulness.  
  
Justin smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and got out of the car. They were both going out of their way to deny that it wasn’t working.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

“Justin, we’re going to try something new today, alright?”  
  
Justin nodded, looking at his doctor. This was his seventh session with Dr. Rossum and so far they had made no progress. Short of experimental drugs, Justin was willing to try anything without even questioning it.  
  
“It’s a sort of psychoanalysis that should help us determine the state of your amnesia,” the doctor explained. “I’m going to give you a prompt – a word, the beginning of a sentence, a certain sensory trigger – and you’re going to tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. Don’t think about it, just blurt it out. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes.” Justin nodded and reclined back in his chair, getting comfortable and closing his eyes.  
  
“Ready?” Another nod.  
  
The doctor looked around his office, trying to come up with something simple to ease his patient into this. “Coffee,” he prompted.  
  
“The diner,” Justin replied. After another dinner at Debbie’s, Justin decided it was time that he left the loft occasionally and had called up Emmett while Brian had been at work. Justin liked to talk to him because Emmett never treated him any differently; at least that was what Justin thought. Still having no memory of his old life, it was hard to be certain about it. But Emmett was fun to hang out with and his stories often made Justin forget what he couldn’t remember.  
  
“Favorite food.”  
  
“Burger and Fries.” Justin smiled.  
  
“Hospitals.”  
  
Justin frowned at the sudden change in direction.  
  
“Don’t think about it, Justin. Whatever comes to mind first,” the doctor reminded him.  
  
“I was going to say pain. But I don’t mean the physical,” Justin quietly replied.  
  
“When I look in the mirror…”  
  
“I don’t,” Justin said.  
  
“Sorry?” Dr. Rossum asked, knowing full well that he was interrupting the flow.  
  
But his patient kept his eyes closed and never broke his concentration when he answered, “I avoid them. I don’t like looking in the mirror.”  
  
“Why?” The doctor demanded to know.  
  
“They’re empty.” Justin opened his eyes and looked at his therapist, his face showing no expression.  
  
Dr. Rossum quickly scribbled something on the pad in his lap and looked Justin in the eye, assuming a demonstratively relaxed posture. “Care to explain?” he interrupted the prompt flow.  
  
Justin shrugged before giving an answer. “The person that I see in the reflection… I don’t know him. He has no story in his eyes.”  
  
Dr. Rossum was about to reply to that statement but held back as he saw that Justin wanted to add something.  
  
“People… other people… they carry their past in their eyes. They have a history; things that they lived through. It’s all reflected in their eyes. Mine are empty. I don’t like that.”  
  
“You don’t think you have a history?”  
  
Justin looked dumbly at the doctor. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”  
  
“Your history may not be as long as that of other people but you lived through something traumatic. You lost your memories. Doesn’t that qualify as history? Wouldn’t that be reflected in your eyes and make them…” The doctor had to think for a moment about how to conclude his sentence and finally settled on, “…less empty?”  
  
Justin frowned and Dr. Rossum could almost see the wheels in his head turning. His patient was quiet for a while until the confusion on his face cleared and he stated, “This trauma,” Justin made air quotes as he pronounced the word, “is not what made up Justin’s being.”  
  
The doctor made another note in the file before stating, “But it makes up yours.”  
  
“But I am Justin,” Justin replied, clearly confused.  
  
“Exactly,” the doctor answered.  
  
Justin frowned again. He couldn’t follow the doctor’s logic. “I don’t understand what you mean.”  
  
“Justin,” the doctor leaned forward a bit, “do you realize that you’re talking about yourself as if you’re another person?”  
  
“Because I can’t remember what I used to be like,” Justin said, his voice clearly colored by frustration.  
  
“While you are still working on that, why can’t you be whoever you are now in the meantime?”  
  
“Because who I am now is not whom Brian fell in love with,” Justin stated through gritted teeth.  
  
“And it’s important to Brian that you are?” The doctor asked.  
  
“It’s important to me,” Justin replied in a desperate tone.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Justin thought for a minute. “Because he had the life that I want.”  
  
The doctor hesitated, not sure if he should ask the next question, but decided to plow ahead. “The life or the man?”  
  
Justin remained quiet for the longest time and Dr. Rossum was about to make a note in his file, convinced he would receive no answer and a little concerned that he had overstepped the bounds of his professional input, when Justin surprisingly spoke.  
  
“In my world, doctor, right now, that’s the same thing.”  
  
Dr. Rossum nodded quietly. He allowed Justin another minute of silence before asking if he was ready to return to the prompt game. When Justin accepted, he hurried to give him another prompt to keep up his compliance.  
  
He looked around again and gave his next cue, “Leather.”  
  
“Cigarettes.”  
  
“Smoke,” the doctor said.  
  
“Blood,” Justin answered immediately.  
  
“Despair.” The doctor kept the prompts coming in rapid succession, not giving Justin time to dwell on his answers.  
  
Justin hesitated for a fraction of a second, before answering slowly. “Violins. That doesn’t seem right, does it?”  
  
The doctor didn’t respond and instead pressed on. “I wish people would stop…”  
  
“…telling me what I feel,” the answer came immediately.  
  
“Family.”  
  
“…is not defined by blood.”  
  
“New York.”  
  
“Means to an end.”  
  
The doctor made some notes on the paper in his hand and focused back on his patient. “I feel safest when…”  
  
“…I’m in his arms.”  
  
Again, the doctor scribbled something down on the pad in his lap.  
  
“Justin, let’s stop here for the time being, alright?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Justin squirmed on the dark sofa, pushing himself on the very edge of it while biting down on his lip nervously. Why did they stop? Did he say something wrong?  
  
The doctor cleared his throat and looked at his patient with a steady gaze. “Justin, tell me about your life.”  
  
“I don’t remember my life, doc. That’s why I’m here,” Justin replied, a little dazzled that they found themselves back in the same muddy waters again as only a few minutes ago.  
  
“You don’t remember your past,” the doctor clarified one more time. “But your past is only one part of your life. Tell me about what your life is now.”  
  
Justin frowned but conceded. “Okay. Ehmm, well, I guess if it wasn’t for the amnesia thing, it’d be pretty great.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“I have Brian.” Justin smiled his first genuine smile since they started their sessions. “He’s amazing. He’s been so patient with me. I know it must be hard for him. Sometimes, he gets this look on his face, like he’s in unbearable pain, but only when he thinks I don’t notice. And then he pulls himself together and tries to be… I don’t know, normal? Yeah, I think he tries to be normal again.”  
  
“Explain, please.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can. I don’t remember what he was like… before. I’ve only known him as this patient, determined person. But sometimes, when we’re at the diner or have dinner at Deb’s and the family is around, I catch those looks.” Before the doctor could interject, Justin hurried to explain, “They glance at each other and then at Brian. As if they can’t completely relax because they expect him to do or say something.” Justin scrunched up his face, not knowing how to make himself understood.  
  
“Like they expect him to help you?” The doctor ventured.  
  
“No. Like they are ready to throw themselves in front of me to protect me from him.” Justin could only whisper the last part.  
  
“Was Brian ever violent towards you?”  
  
“What?! No! No, Brian would never,  _never_ , do that. No.” Justin tried to calm down again before carrying on. “No, I guess it has to do with our past. Or maybe his past. He doesn’t like to talk about it. But I figured we must have gone through a rough time in our relationship. I heard some things. About his many men, about him being selfish and only caring about himself.” Justin swallowed. “There must be some truth to it, I think. Because when I try to talk to him about it, about our past, he gets this guilty look on his face. Like he’s in pain. So, I don’t push it. We don’t talk about it because I know it pains him.”  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“I don’t want him to hurt.”  
  
The doctor took some notes before looking up again. “Tell me more about your life.”  
  
“Well, Brian is really the biggest part of it. I love him, I think.” Justin shrugged.  
  
“You think?”  
  
“Yeah, as much as I can, knowing only what he allows me to know about him. He keeps holding back. Like he’s afraid if he shows me more, I’ll stop liking him.”  
  
“Is that a real possibility?” The doctor asked.  
  
Justin shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I honestly don’t know for sure. Maybe.” he admitted quietly.  
  
The doctor tried to change the topic, realizing they were running in circles without making progress. Too much of Justin’s life post-amnesia revolved around Brian. The doctor had met the tall brunet in one of the early sessions with Justin; and while he’d be the first to admit that Brian Kinney was an enigma, it didn’t explain completely Justin’s obsession and fascination with the man. If his sessions with Justin were less about memory recovery and more about psychotherapy, he’d push his patient towards thinking more about his own life outside of Brian’s shadow. But it seemed, the only time when Justin would willingly and actively work on trying to remember, the only time when he could still be motivated to do so – because it was obvious that hope to ever remember was quickly winding down –, was when Dr. Rossum dangled the Brian card in front of him. Whenever he considered remarking on this fact, he reminded himself that it was actually a good thing. At least Justin had Brian; not only in the physical sense, but also in the metaphorical. Brian was Justin’s goal and motivation to move forward, to come to the sessions, to keep working despite a lack of success. Many of Dr. Rossum’s patients didn’t have that. Not just few of them went through a phase that was akin to the five stages of grief after being diagnosed with retrograde amnesia. It seemed, Brian kept Justin from stumbling head first into a loss-associated depression and the doctor could only be grateful for that.  
  
Focusing back on his patient, he asked, “What about your art?”  
  
Justin sighed. “There’s the urge to sketch or paint, I don’t know, to create something. But when I do grab a pencil, I’m blank. I can’t bring myself to draw a single line. It’s frustrating. Brian brought me to Britin – that’s the house that he bought for us – and he showed me a studio that he had built in there. There were paints, and canvasses, and sketch books, and brushes; everything an artist could dream of. I spent twelve hours in there just staring at a blank canvas. I couldn’t paint. One day, when Brian had to go into the office because of some emergency, I got back in there. I got so angry I almost trashed the whole place. It felt like it was taunting me.  _This is what you were. This is what you’ll never be again._  I grabbed a can of paint and threw it at the canvas. And then I did it with some other cans. And then I sat there for hours, staring at the paint splatters.”  
  
“Some might consider this art, too,” the doctor tried to be helpful.  
  
“Some might,” Justin agreed, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid.  
  
“You don’t?” The doctor asked the obvious.  
  
“Anybody can get angry and throw paints at a surface,” Justin gave the answer. “The times where you could get rich and famous by displaying this kind of art are, thankfully, over.”  
  
“Did you talk about your inability to create with someone?”  
  
“Yeah, my mom. She came by one day when I was in the loft alone. We exchanged some small talk and then I started to cry. She held me and said it was all just temporary. But I knew better.”  
  
“You can’t know that, Justin.”  
  
“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” Justin spat, and rushed to apologize.  
  
The doctor smiled indulgently and explained, deciding to share his assessment. “It would seem that your memory is not gone completely but rather buried, albeit very deep. I’d also wager the guess that something is keeping it from resurfacing. It’s like it’s encased in a shell it cannot break free from. A psychological trauma can be a cause.”  
  
“What kind of trauma?” Justin demanded to know.  
  
“It could be anything. A single experience, a continued event that caused confusion and a sense of insecurity. Sometimes a physical trauma that rips away your protective illusions can be the cause as well. The possibilities are endless.”  
  
“Do you think if I knew what the trauma was, I would be able to remember again?” Justin asked with a sparklet of hope.  
  
“There’s a good chance to that, yes. But it’s not a guarantee. No two amnesia cases are ever alike.” The doctor tried to enforce some sense of reality into their conversation. It wouldn’t help his patient to feel crushed if it turned out to not be helpful at all.  
  
“Doc?” Justin asked, his voice hushed. “Do you think, in your professional opinion that I’ll be able to remember one day?”  
  
“Justin, I have no possible way of knowing. But I advise all my patients to consider the possibility of a ‘what if I don’t’. Ask yourself what it would mean for your life now and how you are going to deal with the consequences should your worst fear come true and you would not recover your memories.”

<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin walked out of the office building and towards the parking lot where he knew Brian was waiting for him. He scanned the lot for the familiar dark green Corvette and imagined what it would feel like to never see it again; to never see Brian again. He couldn’t. Or maybe it wasn’t so much the fact that he couldn’t but that his mind simply blocked such thoughts. A life without Brian – it seemed unimaginable to him.  
  
And yet… as much as he didn’t like to consider it, he knew that one day he would have to. If the amnesia was really permanent, then eventually he’d need to deal with the aftereffects. The situation right now was temporary, they both knew that. Their lives hang suspended in nothingness; it was almost like they both postponed to live for now, until Justin got better. They couldn’t continue living in a limbo forever. And Justin knew one more thing: that Brian was still waiting; waiting for the old Justin to return.  
  
Justin tried to be him, to be the Justin that people had known, the Justin that Brian loved. He’d talked to his mother for hours on end just to figure out how to be him. With Emmett’s help he went shopping and bought clothes that the old Justin used to wear; he tried to paint and draw; he attempted to cook. He gave up eventually. The original version of Justin was simply too intimidating. The old Justin had been so many things that the new Justin didn’t know how to replicate: He’d been a talented artist, a faithful friend, a witty opponent in a conversation, a challenge to Brian, a strong-willed son, a fledgling entrepreneur, and a million things more. And he’d been loved, loved so deeply. Even if the new Justin had  _wanted_  to walk in his shoes, they were too big for him to fill.


	12. Chapter 12

“What is all this?” Justin asked when Brian entered the loft carrying several bags.  
  
“I stopped by the house after work to pick these up,” Brian explained, as if Britin lay on his way home and didn’t require an additional hour to drive to and back from.  
  
Justin peered into the bags and saw a number of sketch books in various sizes, some charcoals, pastel pencils and various other artist utensils. One bag carried several cans and tubes of paints, and yet another contained brushes and cleaning supplies. While checking out the contents of the bags, Justin didn’t notice Brian stepping out of the loft and walking back in with a couple of already mounted canvasses. Another trip out the door produced a portable easel, folded in a travel box. Brian didn’t pay attention to Justin and continued to assemble the wooden legs and adjust them to Justin’s height.  
  
“Brian,” Justin started, getting angry at the brunet. “You know I can’t paint.” He felt his blood boiling, feeling as if Brian was taunting him with what he had lost.  
  
“Sure you can. I’ve seen you do so numerous times,” Brian replied in a throw-away statement.  
  
Justin gritted his teeth. He hadn’t touched a pencil or a brush since the fiasco at Britin. He flashed to the chaos that had once been his neat studio after his fit of throwing paint cans and remembered the embarrassment he felt when Brian had caught him there.  
  
Brian had needed to go into the office after Cynthia had called him with an emergency, leaving Justin alone in Britin. But he was able to clear up the problems in the art department quickly and had returned from work earlier than expected. When he’d arrived back home, he had walked through the house looking for Justin. Upon finally finding him in the studio, his first impulse had been to joke about how Justin taking up painting again would leave them with less time for fucking, but once he saw the mess the studio was in and Justin sitting in the middle of the rubble, looking desperate and lost, the words had died on his lips. He had walked over to Justin then, wrapping his arms around the young man. Justin had tried to shake him off, but Brian wouldn’t let him. The studio wasn’t freezing cold, but the cement floor had to be and Brian didn’t know how long Justin had been sitting there already. Finally giving up the struggle, Justin had allowed himself to be pulled into Brian’s warmth and they had sat there, staring at the huge paint-splattered canvas that stood leaning against the wall of the studio.  
  
“Not your usual style, Sunshine,” Brian had tried to joke.  
  
Justin had snorted at that before sobs began to wreck his body. He had turned in Brian’s arms and buried his face in Brian’s Hugo Boss suit, as Brian continued to rub his back and muttered encouraging words of comfort in his ear.  
  
Justin wasn’t ready for a repeat performance of that particular evening. He eyed Brian standing beside the easel and the canvasses then let his eyes drift over to the bags on the kitchen counter before turning his back on the man and walking to the sofa in front of the TV. “Fuck off, Brian.”  
  
Brian was about to respond appropriately but managed to catch himself in time. He propped the canvasses against a support beam and walked back to where Justin sat, the blond’s back turned to him.  
  
Dropping his suit onto a nearby desk chair, Brian began to unbutton his shirt and, when reaching the sofa, placed the piece of clothing on the backrest. He walked to stand in front of Justin, blocking his view on the television set.  
  
“I’m not in the mood, Brian,” the blond answered, not looking up.  
  
“Believe it or not, neither am I,” Brian replied caustically. He continued to undress and pulled down the zipper on his pants.  
  
“Then what are you doing?” Justin spat, finally focusing on his lover.  
  
“ _I’m_  not doing anything. But  _you_  are going to paint me,” Brian answered in a calm voice, getting rid of his pants and sitting down in the white Italian designer recliner, draping his body temptingly across the expensive furniture.  
  
Justin let his gaze wander along the long, muscular legs, the lean waist, and defined chest and shoulders. He felt his fingers twitch, as they usually did when taking in Brian’s alluring form. The contrast of the pale piece of furniture and Brian’s tanned body had his mind racing with possible images and ideas, but he remained stoic.  
  
Brian ignored him and grabbed a magazine from a nearby table, starting to leaf through it as Justin started to worry his lower lip indecisively. Finally, he relented, walked back to the bags still sitting on the kitchen counter and, grabbing a sketch book and a couple of pencils, came back to the sofa. Sitting down on the very edge, he stared at the blank page for a long time. Eventually, he drew a few tentative lines. The sound of the pencil scraping the paper made Brian itch to raise his head and look up but he schooled his face into a mask of indifference and kept on staring into the magazine in his hands.  
  
He heard a frustrated groan from Justin, followed by a ripping out of the page in question and, scrunching it into a ball, the blond sent it flying into a corner behind the TV set. Brian continued to glare into his magazine, not seeing anything at all, but reminding himself to turn the pages occasionally to keep up the pretense. After some time, Justin got up and rummaged in the bags until he found what he was looking for. Placing one of the canvasses on the floor, ignoring his easel, he kneeled before it. Opening a can of paint, he started coating the linen surface. He worked for a long time, glancing from the canvas to Brian and back again, remaining quiet all this time.  
  
Brian finally gave up pretenses and, throwing away the journal, watched Justin. He’d seen him paint and draw countless times. Seeing the blond create something fascinated and aroused him in equal parts. Justin was always so immersed in his work, he would completely forget everything around him and he’d begin to glow – a mysterious shine that came from within the young artist, making the air around him buzz with charged electricity. Once, he was finished, his body would almost deflate, surrendering to the exhaustion. That would usually be the moment when Brian was allowed to step in and pick him up, gently guiding him to the shower stall where he would proceed to wash the pliant and languid body.  
  
Today’s activity lacked the electrically charged atmosphere. Justin was immersed in his own world, but the glow was not there. Instead, an air of despair and gloomy need surrounded his features. Justin’s face showed concentration, but not the rapture that Brian had often seen on the old Justin’s face; instead, Justin looked almost as if he was in pain. It was agonizing to watch but Brian couldn’t bring himself to avert his eyes. He also didn’t dare look at the painting that was forming under Justin’s talented hands.  
  
When Justin suddenly stopped moving and his hand relaxed, making the brush drop and splatter tiny sprinkles of paint all over the hardwood floors, Brian finally rose from his chair. Still not looking at the finished picture, he bent down to wrap his fingers around Justin’s elbow and pulled him up. The blond, still in trance, slowly raised his head and Brian watched the detached look in his eyes dissipate as his gaze focused on Brian. Brian leaned in slowly as if asking for permission and Justin flung himself at his lover, almost throwing him off-balance. The brunet wrapped an arm around the artist’s middle to stabilize them both, and, as usual, directed the both of them to the bathroom, not breaking the violent onslaught of a kiss.  
  
Justin rushed to rip his clothes off of his body and sighed in relief when he was finally naked and pressed himself against Brian. While working on the painting, his mind had dwelled in some otherworldly sphere but now, that he was back in the here and then, Justin realized he had been staring at a naked Brian for several hours. The desire for the man made his fingers shake in anticipation as he attached himself to the brunet.  
  
They stumbled into the shower together where Justin immediately let himself sink to his knees and mouthed Brian’s not yet completely hard cock. He sucked and licked fervently, feeling it grow to its full size in his mouth, Brian’s cries and moans guiding his movements. Brian tangled one hand into the wet blond strands, trying to pull Justin off of himself. At the rate the blond was going, he’d be coming in no time, but Brian wanted this to last. He hadn’t seen this needy and horny version of Justin for so long; he wanted to enjoy it.   
  
Brian didn’t like to admit it and didn’t like to think about it either, but the reality was that their lovemaking had reached a level of foreignness that Brian had only experienced with tricks before. They were still having sex on a regular basis, but over the last weeks it had become almost impersonal. Brian knew that it was mostly his own fault; he preferred not to look into Justin’s face while they were having sex. If Justin noticed, he never let it show. A loud sigh from Justin pulled Brian from his thoughts and he looked down his body, meeting blue eyes.  
  
Every time Justin pushed his tongue into Brian’s slit, Brian’s abdominal muscles rippled and he pulled harder on the blond’s hair. When Brian was so hard that it ached and made white spots appear on his peripheral vision, Justin pushed up and stood in front of his lover. He pressed his lips against the brunet’s and pushed his tongue forcefully into the hot cavity. Breaking apart mid-kiss, Justin pushed on Brian’s shoulder and tried to turn him around. Brian’s head jerked as he understood what Justin was trying to tell him. He was about to protest but a look in the determined and desperate face of his lover made him swallow down his objections and he turned around, leaning against the cool glass of the shower stall.  
  
Justin got on his knees again, and spread Brian’s cheeks, pushing his tongue roughly against the tightly puckered hole. Brian’s worry made it difficult for him to relax enough to grant the blond access. Normally, a bout of creativity on Justin’s part would be followed by leisurely, almost tantric lovemaking. Brian wasn’t sure what spurted the ferocity of Justin’s attack today. Breathing deeply, Brian focused on the situation, his mind shutting down all thought process. He eventually managed to calm himself and opened up to Justin’s insistent tongue. He felt the blond’s appendage slip inside and couldn’t contain a sigh. Allowing himself to be licked and nibbled on for some time, Brian eventually couldn’t take any more of the teasing. His knees buckled and before Justin could rise to his feet, Brian let his body give in and sank to his knees as well.  
  
Justin reached into the soap dish above their heads for a condom and quickly sheathed himself. Brian lowered himself even deeper to grant the shorter man better access and spread his legs further. The condoms were lubed, but the water beating down on them as well as Brian’s admittedly rare bottoming, made for a very uncomfortable entry. Justin raised one leg and planted the foot firmly on the bottom of the shower to grant himself better leverage as he pushed harder. Slipping inside, he only managed to wait a second before setting a fast and hard rhythm which made Brian clench his teeth at the painful burn. Adjusting to Justin’s size and the insistence with which he was pushing into him again and again, Brian began pushing back against the restless blond. But the force of Justin’s thrusts had Brian pressed up against the glass firmly, his dick squeezed between the shower stall and his body. He came like this – decorating the wet glass while Justin didn’t stop his attack and didn’t even slow down until he came too.  
  
Brian fell into bed half an hour later, feeling completely drained; his hole burned and he felt open like never before. He heard Justin rummaging in the living room, cleaning up the little mess his painting exercise had produced. Brian couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment and surrendered to sleep.  
  
He woke up to find a sleeping Justin curled into a tight ball in his arms, the blond head burrowed under his chin. Brian stroked the blond hair for a few moments and drew lazy circles on the creamy white skin on his back. Since Justin’s accident and memory loss, the only time when Brian would still see Sunshine in the blond’s features was when Justin was asleep. It was the only time when Brian didn’t feel like he was living with a complete stranger.  
  
No, not a stranger anymore, Brian amended. There were times, though they were very few and far between, when Justin would talk more. Talk, not ask questions. Then they’d spend hours discussing world politics, theoretical basics to art and literature, good-naturedly fight over some philosophical shit, or watch a stupid documentary on television while enjoying a beer or, on a rare occasion, a glass of wine and Brian would get to know this new person better. He’d learn of ideas and opinions that he’d never considered before because they stood in direct contrast to what Justin used to believe in before the accident happened. Sometimes, when stoned and relaxed enough, Brian could allow himself to enjoy evenings spent like this. But there was always the morning after where he’d remember that, despite how nice the few hours might have been, he hadn’t spent them with Justin.  
  
And while he was somehow relieved that Justin was gaining more confidence to engage in discussions with him or the confidence to even have an individual opinion, Brian also couldn’t help but be devastated; every time a little more. The more the old Justin would disappear and make room for this new person, the more Brian missed him; the more he retreated into himself and closed up; the less frequent those talks happened and made room for silence.  
  
Brian lay there contemplating their current situation until the need to take a piss forced him out of bed. After taking a trip to the bathroom, his movement slightly awkward due to the soreness, he went into his living room to survey the chaos. Surprisingly, Justin had managed to clean up everything and Brian was about to get back into bed when he noticed the painting leaning against the other side of the support beam where he had left the other canvasses. Brian walked closer to inspect it. He picked it up and went to stand near the window where the light from the moon was pouring in. Luckily, it was bright enough to see the grotesque lines of Justin’s painting.  
  
Brian had no problem recognizing himself, but at the same time, he looked eerily foreign. Brian reached for this suit jacket that was still thrown over the sofa and picked up his pack of cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled as his eyes raked over the painting. It was as if he was looking at a disturbingly accurate look-alike of himself. The features were the same, but there was an edge to them that Brian hadn’t seen before. He wondered if it was how he really looked, or if it was how Justin came to see him since the accident. It was as though he was looking at a portrait of himself that was done without love or affection for the subject by his creator. Brian’s face hardened and he couldn’t stand to look at it any longer. He turned it to place it back against the support beam with the front side turned away, and noticed a scribble on the frame at the back of the painting.  
  
Justin had written down his name and today’s date as well as a title:  _Loss_.


	13. Chapter 13

The phone in the loft rang but Justin didn’t look up. He had made a habit of letting the answering machine pick up. In the rare cases that the call turned out to be for him, he’d pick up the receiver. But aside from Emmett, people rarely called the loft for him. In the beginning, Daphne used to call every once in a while. He’d spoken to her once or twice, but both conversations had been awkward and stilted. She had stopped calling after that and Justin suspected she was now getting her updates directly from Brian.  
  
Justin heard the fourth ring and waited for the person on the other end to leave a message. It was a woman and the voice made Justin look up. He briefly wondered what it had been that made him pause – whether it was something familiar in the tone of the voice or whether it was because it was a woman.  
  
“Hey, Brian. It’s me, Lindsay. You haven’t called in a while and I wanted to check in and make sure that everything is okay. How is Justin; any improvement yet? Call your son. He misses you. He’s going to turn five next month. Maybe reason enough for a visit? Take care.”  
  
The machine clicked signaling the end of the message. Justin rose from the sofa and walked into the bedroom. Brian didn’t keep many personal things around the loft, but on one of the dressers sat the infamous framed picture of Gus that Justin now found himself staring at. He focused on the form of Brian as he held the tiny baby in his arms, ignoring the camera completely. Gus. He still didn’t feel anything remotely connected to a memory. He knew from a talk he had overheard between Ted and his boyfriend that Michael went to Canada at least once a month, to visit his daughter and her mothers. Justin knew that they were living in Toronto now as a result of a serious of unfortunate circumstances, though he didn’t know what those were exactly. He also knew that Brian hadn’t yet been to visit his son.  
  
When Brian stepped inside that evening, Justin waited for him to listen to the messages on the answering machine and secretly hoped that he would suggest a road trip. But after hearing Lindsay’s message, Brian grabbed a phone and ordered take-out, not bothering to ask Justin what he would like. While waiting for the food to arrive, Brian booted up his computer and Justin watched him answer a couple of emails, assuming one of them would be to Lindsay. As much as he would have liked, he just couldn’t find a way to ease into the conversation that was on his mind.  
  
Once they sat down on the rug in front of the living room sofa and started eating dinner, not bothering with plates, Justin gathered the courage to bring up the topic.  
  
„We could go to Toronto,” Justin suggested.  
  
“No.”  
  
The answer was so definite, barring any objections, that for a moment Justin was thrown. He recovered quickly.  
  
“Why not? You could see Lindsay again. I’m sure you must miss her. And I’d like to meet her. And I’m sure Gus would be thrilled,” Justin pressed on, remembering what he could from various talks with Debbie and Emmett. He thought back about the fact that Michael and his husband had gone to Toronto mere three weeks after Lindsay and Melanie had left. He remembered hearing a comment – something about Brian not being the fatherly type, though he couldn’t remember exactly whom he heard it from. Justin knew, though, that it wasn’t true. The picture on the chest of drawers was proof of that.  
  
Justin waited for Brian’s answer which never came. So he prodded further, “I know you can’t leave Kinnetik for long, but a weekend should be doable, right? We could fly out there Friday and be back by Sunday evening,” he suggested.  
  
“No, Justin. We can’t go,” Brian explained, as if speaking to a child. “It’s a critical time business-wise right now. What with Thanksgiving and Christmas season coming up. I can’t leave right now.”  
  
“But Gus…” Justin started to object.  
  
“Gus will understand!” Brian cut him off.  
  
Justin muttered under his breath, “I highly doubt that.”  
  
The quiet reprimand made Brian lose his patience. “We can’t go there because you don’t remember him,” Brian burst out.  
  
“Gus?” Justin asked, irritated as to what had brought on this explosion.  
  
“Yes, Gus! You don’t remember him. And I don’t know how to explain to him that you don’t remember. I have to protect my son, Justin.”  
  
“From me?” Justin asked in a small voice, the pain that was slicing through him coloring his tone.  
  
No, Brian wanted to scream, from the stranger that’s taken up residence inside of you. “Yes, from you!” He answered instead. Brian didn’t care that he was hurting Justin because he was in pain too and he just couldn’t keep up the pretense anymore.  
  
Brian pushed up from the floor. One of the take-out containers fell and the contents spilled onto the white rug but Brian didn’t seem to notice. He walked to the liquor cart and poured himself a shot of whisky. Before downing it, however, he turned around and looked at the pitiful heap of misery at the foot of the couch.  
  
Justin had crouched down, legs pulled up and arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He was nodding slowly while staring at an invisible spot in the distance. “Okay,” the blond whispered.  
  
Brian squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed a fistful of his own hair. He pounded his head on the nearby pillar repeatedly before gathering enough strength to walk over and sink down beside Justin again.  
  
He gently but insistently pulled Justin’s arms from around his body and took his face in his hands. Holding it, he said, “He’s gonna think you forgot because he moved away.” Brian tried to explain to ease Justin’s pain. “He’s too young to understand that it had nothing to do with him. He won’t recognize you.”  
  
Justin nodded, his face still held by Brian’s hands. When he looked up, he asked, “Do you?”  
  
Brian closed his eyes again. He would do many things for Justin. He even would do a lot of things for this person that lived inside Justin’s body now. But lying was not of one of them.  
  
Instead of an answer, Brian said, “Maybe later, okay? When Gus is a little older. Then we can go visit him. Later,” Brian insisted.  
  
Justin tried to hold Brian’s gaze but he couldn’t. He pulled himself free from Brian’s grasp and grabbed a hoodie from the back of the couch. He pulled it over his head on his way to the door. Throwing it open, he rushed out, not chancing a look back. Racing down the stairs and into the slowly darkening streets of Pittsburgh, Justin let his tears run freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t understand why Brian stoically refused to lie to him about one thing but had no problem telling lies right into his face about another; because they both knew that there wouldn’t be a visit. Not now, and not later. Not for as long as Justin wasn’t Justin yet.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
  
After Justin left, Brian grabbed the bottle of JB and, foregoing the glass, sank heavily into the sofa cushions. He took a swig from the bottle, then another. Fuck. Brian internally surveyed the chaos that his life had become. He scrubbed both hands across his face and shook his head, letting it then fall back onto the back rest. He’d grown so fucking tired of mending the broken pieces and finally admitted to himself that maybe they were beyond repair now.  
  
Justin would be back in a few hours. And life would go on just like it had in the past month. But something would be different. Neither of them would say anything. At least not yet. But they also wouldn’t pretend anymore. Brian should have felt relieved at that, but all he felt was pure, undiluted terror. Not because he didn’t know where they were headed, but because he feared that he did. 


	14. Chapter 14

Brian was getting shit-faced drunk. Or about to. At least that was the plan for tonight’s entertainment program and so far everything was going according to plan. The booze was cooled down to a nice temperature – just right, so it wouldn’t make your teeth hurt on the way down, nor would leave that lingering, slightly bitter aftertaste of alcohol when consumed when its temperature was too warm to be pleasurable. A lot of planning had gone into tonight’s evening. Not that any of it was done by Brian actually. His task had consisted of buying the booze; the rest had been accomplished by Jennifer, with a supporting appearance of Emmett who, right at that moment, was out entertaining Justin.  
  
The plan was fairly simple.  
  
“Brian, you both need some time apart. You’ve run yourselves into this weird routine and while you may be thinking that it is working out for the both of you, the rest of us can actually see that it isn’t,” Jennifer had said during her surprise visit to Brian’s office, after exchanging pleasantries drilled into her head by WASPy upbringing and lifestyle and commending Brian on ‘what he’d done with the place’. Brian hadn’t contradicted her. Mostly because she didn’t leave him any window of opportunity to do so, but also because he silently agreed, which for apparent reasons he wasn’t about to say out loud, however. And so it was agreed that Justin would spend the night at Jennifer’s and Molly’s place. Possibly the whole weekend even, provided the first night went well and Justin agreed to stay for another which was yet to be seen.  
  
Jennifer had come prepared with a speech, probably thinking that she would need one to persuade Brian to give up his sentinel position over Justin for one night. She really needn’t have worried. Brian knew perfectly well that he and Justin had hit a dead end. Brian was running himself ragged trying to juggle all his responsibilities. Running Kinnetik while keeping an eye on Justin and coordinating his doctor’s appointments with client meetings, Brian feared a burnout was looming on the horizon and he really couldn’t afford one right now.  
  
The family tried to help. Emmett volunteered to take Justin out every other day or so whenever his schedule allowed it, which Brian accepted wordlessly and showed his appreciation by throwing business Emmett’s way whenever a client of Kinnetik’s inquired after a party planner; Michael offered to drive Justin to and from his standing psychologist appointment, which Brian declined because he sensed that Justin needed him after every one of them, experiencing another disappointment due to a lack of progress. Deb didn’t ask if she could help, but a couple of times each week, a dish of Lasagna, Chicken Parmigian, or a casserole magically appeared in his fridge at the loft while Brian was in the office. Daphne and he had developed a strange rote where she called him every Monday morning at seven thirty sharp, catching him right after he left the loft, to ask about Justin’s progress. She never missed a week and was so punctual that Brian considered setting his watch by her calls. Jennifer on the other hand alternated between visits and phone calls. Since that first meeting with an amnesiac Justin, they had settled into a comfortable routine where Jennifer no longer visited in the evenings, but instead would come by the loft on the days that Justin had no therapy sessions and talk to him about everything and nothing. Because they never talked about anything too depressing, Justin seemed to enjoy those meetings and Brian felt comfortable enough to not insist on being present during those occasions. Partly, to give Justin and Jennifer some privacy, but mostly because he didn’t want to be around to witness Jennifer’s slow coming to terms with Justin’s condition. It seemed to Brian like she had accepted that Justin was not going to get better. And while Brian was thankful for not having to endure one of her quietly pleading stares any longer, he also couldn’t see  _this_. Brian might have stopped hoping that the amnesia was only a temporary situation, but he was far from accepting the new Justin as the new resident of the blond’s body. He hadn’t arrived at this point yet, and he didn’t need Jennifer parading it in front of him.  
  
Brian was ready to snap. He appreciated the help that their family offered, he really did, but despite their combined best efforts, they weren’t helping. So Brian waited and bided his time, longing for the moment when they’d finally realize what he’d come to accept as a fact and would finally stop trying. And wasn’t he just a real asshole for thinking it? Brian thought that maybe everyone who had ever called him that had been right in that assumption.  
  
Justin meanwhile was getting more depressed and frustrated by the hour and Brian could only watch. Having no access to his memories and his old life was turning out to be only part of it. Another was Brian’s mood that the brunet realized he couldn’t hide completely and which burdened Brian with guilt because it was affecting Justin, and possibly his getting better. In the end it was this fact exactly that prompted Jennifer to take action. The only surprise, albeit a small one, was how readily Justin agreed to it. Brian suspected Justin was planning on grilling Jennifer about his and Brian’s past. What Brian was not hundred percent sure about was whether it was because Justin still clung to the hope that it would change something about his current situation or because he and Justin didn’t talk anymore. Sometimes Brian still wondered how they got there. Sometimes, he would get desperate, needing to call Justin and vent. He would even reach for the phone and there would be a moment – no longer than a second, just a tiny little second – where he’d forget. In that second, his world would be alright again, and Justin would have the answers, and relief would wash over him, and he’d chuckle at himself for not thinking to call the blond earlier, and he’d relax because breathing always came easier in a world where Justin was only a phone call away. But then the second would be gone too soon. And reality would settle in. And Brian would look at the new Justin and see nothing familiar. Looking at the new Justin would always make him stop chastising himself for not trying harder.  
  
Jennifer had sensed something and stepped in, and Brian was thankful for it. He didn’t know how much she’d told Emmett. But he hadn’t said anything when he’d come by about half an hour ago to pick up Justin. The two of them were having dinner at some greasy diner, after which Emmett would drop the blond off at Jennifer’s condo. That was as much information as Brian was privy to. They had his number, they’d call if something was wrong. Brian made a conscious effort not to worry and intended to drink himself into a state where he wouldn’t remember how to.  
  
Pouring his first drink, he congratulated himself for not drinking straight from the bottle. Using a glass was that much classier and made him feel less like he was following in his father’s footsteps. He even bothered to fill his glass with ice cubes. The first gulp went down nicely, the velvety afterburn pleasurable and welcome. Brian sighed and relaxed his shoulders. His neck hurt from the constant tension and he let his head circle back and forth on his shoulders. On his second anti-clockwise turn, the bell from the intercom rang and Brian paused, throwing mental expletives Michael’s way. He knew he shouldn’t have told his best friend that he was planning a night alone. If he _was_  going to disturb Brian’s evening of wallowing in misery and self-pity – no, he did  _not_  just think that – the least Michael could do was to use the code for downstairs instead of ringing the bell. Brian decided not to answer. Michael would either have to use his brain or go away. Either way was fine with Brian.  
  
The intercom sounded again and Brian ignored it. The third ring he timed with another gulp from his drink, the fourth made him angry, the fifth made him answer the damn door. He pushed the button to release the door lock downstairs without bothering to put his emotions into a yelled reply. Instead, he slid the door open a bit but didn’t wait for his visitor to appear on the stairs, choosing to pour another drink in the meantime.  
  
“Hey,” a tentative, surprisingly non-male voice greeted him hesitantly from the entrance. Brian looked up mid-motion, astounded to see Daphne’s head peering through the gaping opening. She pushed the heavy metal door open wider and stepped inside. Something with her appearance didn’t sit right with Brian. Her usually colorful outfit rivaled Emmett’s on most days, but today it was… dull, Brian decided. She wore a dark blue jeans and a simple, light blue sweater. The only thing that still reminded Brian of her energetic personality was the mass of delicate corkscrew locks around her face. She hovered just inside the entrance, looking uncertainly at Brian.  
  
“Today’s not Monday and this,” he motioned between them, “is not a phone call,” Brian stated unnecessary and Daphne frowned at his brusque statement. When she didn’t reply, he spoke again. “Justin’s not here,” he said, foregoing a greeting. The faster he could return to the plans of the evening, the better. “He’s out with Emmett. And he won’t be back tonight either. He’s spending the night at his mommy’s.”  
  
“I know,” Daphne replied. “I don’t only keep in touch with you, you know. I talk to Jennifer regularly. She told me you’d be home alone tonight.”  
  
“Then why are you here?” Brian asked confused.  
  
“I need your help.”  
  
Brian tried not to cringe at that. Hadn’t people learned already that he couldn’t help; with anything. He was a big fat no-help. When would they finally open their eyes? “You have no friends who can help you with… whatever it is that you need help with?”  
  
A bitter smile that looked more like a grimace appeared on Daphne’s face and Brian mentally kicked himself for bringing up the friend comment. He turned away from her and Daphne, sensing she’d have to explain herself, continued, “I need to forget for a while. And who better to turn to but the master of pain management?” She tried to joke to lighten the dark atmosphere.  
  
Brian glanced her over once more, noticing a look of fading hope in her eyes that he was too familiar with from looking at his own reflection every morning and nodded. This was something he  _could_  help with. “Welcome to the House of Enlightened Oblivion.” He beckoned for her to come inside, which she did, sliding the door closed behind her with some difficulty. “Choose your poison,” he said with a sweeping gesture of his arm towards the wet bar.  
  
Daphne rummaged in her bag for a second and pulled out a bottle. “I come prepared.” She grinned up at him. “Scotch Whisky is your preferred choice, if I remember correctly?”  
  
Brian stepped closer and let out an appreciative whistle. “That’s a Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Where did you swipe  _that_?”  
  
Daphne shrugged. “Long story involving a Truth or Dare game and a not so secret admirer from my biology class.”  
  
Brian frowned at the non-sensical explanation but accepted it. She held the bottle out to him and he took it. Picking up another glass, he poured a drink for Daphne and one for himself. They toasted in silence and downed their glasses. Daphne pulled a face. “Ugh, you like that? I tastes like…. I don’t even know what to compare it to.”  
  
Brian smirked at that and poured another drink for each of them. “It’s an acquired taste. It gets better once you stop expecting it to taste like five bucks tequila. Have another one,” he said holding the refilled glass out to her. She gulped it down, again pulling a face, but refraining from another comment.  
  
After a minute of highly uncomfortable silence, Daphne said, “I was hoping you’d have some weed. Justin always used to brag that you have the best shit.”  
  
“You should only do drugs with friends,” Brian advised her, pointing out the fact that they were fleeting acquaintances at best. It didn’t make Daphne feel any more comfortable, but Brian couldn’t bring himself to care. She’d basically invited herself; now she had to endure his snark.  
  
“Can we just pretend?” Daphne pleaded. “I really do need a friend right now,” she whispered in a choked-up voice. Brian saw her eyes well up with tears and looked away quickly. Fuck.  
  
“I do have the best shit,” Brian confirmed, turning the conversation around to the previous topic. “But you should never mix alcohol with pot. It’s gonna make you barf.”  
  
“I’ll risk it,” Daphne answered, grateful for the unspoken offer. She muttered, “With what this shit costs, you’d think they’d make a non-barfy version.”  
  
“Ah, the logic of youngsters,” Brian mocked. “This shit is too good and too expensive to get drunk on,” he said and poured himself another one, contradicting his own statement. To hell with everything. If Daphne wanted a joint, he’d give her one.  
  
Brian motioned over to the sofa and pulled out an already made cigarette. He lit it, taking the first hit, and looked at Daphne who had sat down beside him on the rug in front of the TV set. She still looked uncomfortable in her skin and he passed her the joint which she took nimbly. She’d brought the bottle and Brian reached for it to pour another drink. His fifth? He’d lost count. Good. Arching an eyebrow at Daphne, Brian silently asked her if she wanted another as well but she declined, hogging the joint instead. Brian watched her for a few minutes. They were both silent; the mood slowly shifting from tense to relaxed. “The bathroom’s through there,” he pointed towards the bedroom area. “Don’t forget and don’t miss the toilet bowl when you puke.”  
  
Daphne saluted in affirmation, her quirky nature finally showing through, but her movements were already slowed and sloped.  
  
“Sucks, huh?” She asked, her hazy gaze directed at some invisible point some few inches in front of her nose.  
  
“Really?” Brian asked in reply. “That’s your conversation starter?” He released a mirthless laugh.  
  
“Sorry, Mr. Advertising Genius, I didn’t think there would be a test to my eloquence. But just for the record, I aced my verbal at the SATs.”  
  
“God, you  _must_  be Justin’s hag. He likes to brag with his SAT score as well.”  
  
They both fell silent, remembering those past times where everything seemed complicated at the time, but, looking back, had been so much easier than now. Brian shook his head in disbelief. His biggest problem at that time seemed to be a certain blond and how to best get rid of him. Now, it was still all about a certain blond, but things were oh so different. Who ever said change was good?  
  
“Have you even seen him?” Brian asked Daphne, not really wanting to start a conversation, but preferring one to his troubling thoughts, addled by a yet unsubstantial amount of alcohol.  
  
“Tried,” Daphne answered. “He doesn’t want to. I call occasionally and ask if he’s changed his mind. Didn’t he tell you?”  
  
Brian shook his head. They didn’t tell each other much these days.  
  
“You two don’t talk much, huh?” Daphne asked.  
  
Brian wasn’t sure if it was simply an innocent inquiry or a criticism in disguise, so he only raised an eyebrow.  
  
Daphne laughed, relaxed by the alcohol and the weed. “Don’t look at me like that. First, you don’t scare me. And second, unlike Justin, I do remember things. He used to complain a lot that you’re too closed up with your emotions. You don’t like to talk about them.”  
  
Brian only nodded. She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t exactly right either. He wasn’t about to discuss his relationship with Justin with Justin’s fag hag, no matter how wasted he was. She accepted his silence wordlessly, her head bobbing up and down slightly as she finished the remnants of the joint. Brian grabbed the wooden box that contained all the utensils and pushed it towards her. She could roll her own joint. Besides, Brian wasn’t sure his finer motor skills coordinated well enough anymore to be of any help.  
  
Daphne took her time preparing another cigarette and remained quiet till she took the first hit. “He doesn’t talk to me,” she said quietly, not looking at Brian.  
  
“He doesn’t talk to anyone much these days,” Brian replied thinking of the last few times that he tried to engage Justin in a conversation. It was awkward at best. Justin couldn’t draw upon his memories and was uncertain in any discussion that relied heavily on actual facts. And when it came to more personal matters… Well, Brian sighed deeply, that was a completely different matter. Brian suspected that Justin treaded carefully then to prevent from saying something that would be unintentionally difficult to take. So he kept quiet mostly, and preferred to grill Jennifer or Emmett instead. Another routine that they had maneuvered themselves into. Thankfully, Brian thought, his mind was finally too addled by alcohol to care much in the moment. And he refused to think about the next morning right now where it all would come back to him again.   
  
“Seems kinda unimaginable, doncha think?” Daphne replied to his news.  
  
Brian shrugged. He didn’t have to imagine; he was living it.  
  
“Just can’t picture it,” Daphne was musing, trying to wrap her head around this simple bit of information. “Justin wouldn’t keep quiet.”  
  
“ _Justin_  wouldn’t,” Brian replied quietly.  
  
Daphne looked at him, an indefinable expression on her face. It was a mixture of wonderment, compassion, and, if Brian was not mistaken, understanding. She didn’t contradict or ask questions and Brian was grateful for it. He didn’t mind the silence, but he only managed to pour another glassful before Daphne said, “You’ve always called it as you saw it.” There was a sad tone in her voice that made Brian listen up and look closer. He thought she’d looked kind of not her sunny self when she came in, but he had chalked it up to a momentary situation. Now however, realization dawned. Daphne understood because she felt the same. She missed the real Justin. Alright, so maybe everyone involved did. But the difference was that, just like Brian, she not only gave up hope that the real Justin would make a reappearance but she also, just like Brian, harbored an unuttered resentment toward that alien person that had taken up residence inside Justin’s body, as irrational as it was. Rationally, Brian was aware that it was nobody’s fault, but, emotionally – yeah, that part was a different issue altogether. He wondered how much asshole points he’d earn if the family were privy to these thoughts. But Daphne wasn’t part of his family, and she, just like him, and unlike everyone else, refused to engage in the game of transforming the new Justin into the old one. Because if they were honest to themselves that was what everybody was trying to do: Supply Justin with enough information so he would know how to talk like the real Justin, how to act like him, how to be him. Brian could have done it. He could have taught Justin how to be Justin again. But he’d be living with an impersonator who was neither Justin, nor someone else. So he refrained and kept vital information to himself and retreaded farther inside himself while continuing to care, and listen, and fucking encourage, and comfort. But he was resigned that nobody would ever blame him for forcing the person that was wearing Justin’s skin into a Justin-mold. This particular casting mold was too unique anyway. He would never want to learn to live with the imperfections of a double.   
  
And out of all the people in the world, Daphne understood it best. She didn’t come here to accuse or reprimand or even to forget, as she had claimed when she arrived. No. She came to share her pain with someone whom she knew felt the same. Brian felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the young woman. He drowned it immediately with another gulp from his glass.  
  
They sat in silence again. Daphne smoking, Brian drinking, both thinking.  
  
“I’ve talked to Jen,” Daphne broke the companionable silence. “I talk to her a lot. She’s totally okay with how Justin is now. And at the same time, she’s still holding on to hope, you know? I don’t know how she does it.”  
  
“She’s almost lost her son once. She’s happy to have at least this version of him,” Brian replied simply.  
  
“But why aren’t I? Why aren’t you?”  
  
Brian took another swig, this one straight from the bottle, foregoing his glass. He stared at the meager contents of what was left of the whisky and kept his eyes on it when he answered, “What the fuck do I know, I’m not Freud. Maybe it’s because she’s his mother. The connection is apparent; he doesn’t have to remember it or be convinced of it. Unconditional love bullshit? Sense of basic trust? What the fuck do I know,” Brian repeated again, ending his small tirade.  
  
“Huh,” Daphne said.  
  
“What?” Brian was irritated by the stare she was giving him. She was looking at him over the glowing end of her stub, eyes narrowed to slits, lips pursed. “What?!” Brian demanded to know again, slightly unnerved by the examination.  
  
She stubbed out the roach before answering and grabbed the bottle from his hands, taking a big gulp. She didn’t flinch once. “You thought he’d remember you.”  
  
Brian scoffed. “I never thought about what it would be like if Justin ever got amnesia.”  
  
“No, of course you didn’t. But if you had, or now that you have, or whatever,” she paused, obviously having veered off course by her musings. Finding her way back to the original thought, she started again, “If you had thought about it, you totally would have expected him to remember you.” She nodded all-knowingly. When Brian didn’t contradict, she added, “That’s the real bitch about amnesia, huh? It has no respect for the soul mate concept.”  
  
“You’re saying that in your professional capacity as a first year undergraduate pre-med student?”  
  
“No, I say that in my capacity as Justin’s best friend and the only person, aside from him, who doesn’t buy into your bullshit. He’s told me enough about you that I feel like I know you inside and out.”  
  
“I have a best friend who’d pick a fight with you over that point.”  
  
Daphne shook her head. “Pfft. Whatever. I know what I know.”  
  
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Brian agreed.  
  
After another pause, Daphne was the one to break the silence again. “Don’t be mad with him. It’s not his fault, you know.”  
  
Brian almost growled, though if in anger or in frustration he’d never be entirely sure. “I fucking know that. I’m not mad.” Daphne simply shrugged in response. At least, Brian thought that it was supposed to be a shrug; could have been a nervous tick. “Have you mastered that discipline yourself?” He asked.  
  
“Trying to.”  
  
“Keep me posted how that worked out for you,” Brian commented.  
  
“Will do. Now, Brian,” Daphne’s tone suddenly turned dead serious and her eyes pierced him with a steady glare, “Where did you say that toilet bowl was, exactly?”  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Brian got up and pulled on a pair of jeans when he heard the loft door slide open. He’d been awake for about an hour, but didn’t feel any need or desire to get up just yet. He’d slept for shit, despite the bottle of whisky that he’d emptied almost by himself. He’d lain alone in his bed, contemplating his life, as he did so often these days.  _Don’t be mad at him_. That’s what Daphne had said. He’d disagreed of course, denied being mad. But she’d hit too close to home. Brian needed something or someone to be mad at. The universe in general just didn’t cut it anymore. He was suddenly ripped from his musings as he heard the familiar scraping of the metal door.  
  
Coming down the three steps from his bedroom, he spotted Justin standing near the sofa, eyeing Daphne who sported a spectacular case of bed head.  
  
“Hey, Justin,” Brian heard Daphne say and wondered how one could be so fucking cheery in the morning, especially after a night spent in professional procrastinating. But she sounded genuinely happy to see him and Brian hoped that Justin would hear that as well.  
  
Justin hesitated visibly for a moment, scrunching up his face and taking a careful step backwards, as he often did nowadays when meeting people for the first time. “Daphne,” he said after a moment.  
  
Daphne rose from her makeshift bed and grinned a wide smile. Brian smiled sadly; Daphne was about to get her hopes crushed. “Yes.” She eyed Justin questioningly. “How did you know?”  
  
Justin motioned absentmindedly towards his ear with one hand. “Your voice. From the phone,” he said in explanation.  
  
Daphne’s mouth formed a silent ‘oh’ and for a while she just stared at him. There hang an uncomfortable silence during which Justin looked around the loft and noticed that Brian was watching the exchange and Brian could swear that it was his presence that made Justin look at his own feet before he fixed a point somewhere behind Daphne’s shoulder. She was the first to break the silence. “Ehmm, Justin,” she finally began, asking with genuine interest, “how are you doing?”  
  
“Fine,” Justin replied monosyllabically.  
  
“Sorry,” Daphne immediately said and Brian wondered what she was apologizing for, “you must really hate the question by now.”  
  
Justin tried a tight-lipped smiled that came out lopsided and resembled a grimace. He didn’t say anything in return which left Daphne to carry the awkward conversation alone. Brian didn’t envy her; but it wasn’t new to him either.  
  
“So, listen,” Daphne tried again, “I’ll be in town for a few more days, visiting my folks, you know.”  
  
Justin pulled up an eyebrow in question. No, he obviously didn’t know. Daphne realized he needed more information and explained, “I’m going to school in Philly. I’m here for the weekend.”  
  
“Oh,” Justin commented and his face showed an apologetic smile that Brian recognized. He was about to say sorry. He usually did after discovering a fact that he realized the old Justin would have known. But this time, Daphne intercepted any apology that might have followed.  
  
“Ah, that’s cool,” she said with a throw-away gesture of her hand. “Nothing noteworthy or memorable about it.” She smiled a grin in Justin’s direction which he didn’t return. “As I was saying, I’ll be around and I’d be available for a coffee—” She suddenly fell silent when Justin wrapped his arms around himself and took another step back.  
  
Brian glanced back at Daphne in time to see her shoulders slump a little. But she quickly collected herself. She stood straighter and cleared her throat. Obviously she’d read Justin’s body language, because she immediately back-pedaled. “Or a movie,” she suggested an activity where Justin would have to do only a minimal amount of talking.  
  
“Ehm, I don’t know,” Justin replied uncertainly.  
  
“Hey, no pressure,” Daphne let him down easy. “But in case you change your mind, you know how to—” Now it was her turn to smile apologetically before she corrected herself, “ _Brian_  knows how to reach me.”  
  
Justin nodded his acceptance. He relaxed a little and lost some of his stiff posture. But Brian knew he wasn’t going to take Daphne up on her offer. Justin was simply grateful that she didn’t press on. Daphne was a smart girl, however; she’d probably figured it out on her own already.  
  
After another moment’s silence, she started rummaging about the living room area, collecting her things. “Gotta go,” she said in explanation and forced herself to smile. At least Brian thought the smile had a somewhat forced quality to it.  
  
She threw the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and stood a couple of feet before Justin. “Bye, Justin,” she said so quietly that Brian almost didn’t hear her. She leaned in slightly, pausing to see if Justin would allow it, and kissed his cheek. Then she turned away.  
  
Before she was out the door, she threw a glance towards Brian while Justin stood with his back turned to her. Brian wasn’t sure what to read in that look. Sympathy? Understanding? He couldn’t help feeling though that she was saying goodbye for good. He wouldn’t be totally surprised if his phone remained quiet come Monday morning, 7:30 AM.  
  
When the door fell shut again, Brian finally came down the steps. Justin stared at Brian, but didn’t ask anything.  
  
“You’re back early,” Brian said, starting a conversation.  
  
Justin shrugged uncomfortably. “It was weird staying there.”  
  
Brian was glad Justin came back to the loft instead of forcing himself to stay at Jennifer’s place when he didn’t like it. “You feel more comfortable here?” Brian asked, knowing full well that Justin didn’t like the loft too much either.  
  
“It’s home, isn’t it?” Justin asked rhetorically and Brian wondered whom he was trying to convince – himself or Brian.  
  
“You’re hungry?” Brian asked instead. “I was just about to have breakfast. Have you had breakfast yet?”  
  
Justin shook his head and sat down at the counter, watching Brian beat up some eggs. They remained silent, Justin watching, Brian preparing the food and pouring orange juice into two glasses. As he worked, Brian silently willed Justin to say something. Ask me what Daphne was doing there. Tell me how the evening with Emmett went. Anything. But Justin remained silent, only replying with a smile whenever Brian glanced his way.  
  
As Brian was finished making breakfast and they sat down at the table to eat, he asked, “How’s Jennifer? Does Molly have a boyfriend yet?”  
  
He listened as Justin gave monosyllabic answers.


	15. Chapter 15

Brian found Justin sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the sofa, a thick oversized book in his lap. As Brian came closer, he noticed the book was actually an old-fashioned, large photo album.  
  
“What’cha doin’?” Brian asked despite already knowing the answer.  
  
Justin looked up and sent a smile in the brunet’s direction that ever since the accident never quite managed to reach the Sunshine-y voltage from before. Brian responded, as usual, with a smile of his own, knowing full well that he couldn’t keep the sadness out of his eyes. Justin knew he stopped trying weeks ago anyway.  
  
Justin held his gaze for a moment before answering the initial question, “Deb came over earlier today. She brought food and this.” He motioned towards the heavy album. “Thought, it might help me remember.”  
  
“And?” Brian asked more for the sake of keeping the conversation afloat than out of any actual curiosity; any trace of hope that may have been there some weeks before, long gone.  
  
“It’s interesting,” Justin dodged the question, fully aware that the answer was not going to please Brian. The truth of it was that no matter what he did, he got nothing. No matter how many appointments he scheduled with the best psychologists, neurologists, or any of the other half a dozen of experts. He’d tried everything there was. Restorative therapy, hypnosis, associative psychoanalysis, Chinese herbal therapy. He tried talking about it as well as staying away from things that could have reminded him of the past. If there had only been the tiniest, the slightest of progresses recognizable, he would have kept going. But there was nothing. Not even a glimmer of a faint memory or image. He was completely empty and had resigned to never get his memories back again. Their family and all of the medical staff always told him not to give up hope, to stay focused on the goal. But thanks to hours spent in the medical division of the library and perusing online forums, he knew perfectly well that the first few weeks were indicative of the direction the future progress would take. Almost two months had come and gone and Justin was slowly beginning to accept that in his case the diagnosis might very well be ‘non-restorative, permanent memory loss.’  
  
Justin was aware that Brian had begun to realize the same thing even before him. They both knew the truth, but were afraid to admit it out loud. They kept tiptoeing around each, staying as far away as possible of the painful topic, clinging to a no longer existent hope.  
  
“Look,” Justin said, in an attempt to distract Brian from gloomy thoughts. “That’s the same photograph you have in your office.” He pointed a finger at the two of them, laughing, Brian standing behind Justin, biting the blond’s earlobe. Brian had taken him to his office twice. Once fairly early after the accident to show him around Kinnetik; and a second time a couple of weeks ago. Justin had been surprised to find a photograph of himself and Brian on Brian’s desk; he was pretty sure it hadn’t been there on his first visit. Not even in his loft was Brian keeping pictures of them both, but he had one in his office now. Justin had realized something that day. Brian’s office had become his sanctuary. And Brian missed his Justin. And he was not him.  
  
“That was the first picture that was taken of the two of us together,” Brian explained, interrupting Justin’s musings.  
  
“God, I look so young here.”  
  
Brian had to smile at that. “You were. I should replace it with another one. People are gonna think I’m some kind of pedophile.”  
  
“Do you care?” Justin asked, surprising Brian with the question which showed on his face and prompted Justin to explain further. “No apologies, no regrets? Unless you’re sucking their dick it’s none of their fucking business?” he recited Brian’s mantras.  
  
“You’ve been talking to Mikey,” Brian remarked.  
  
Justin shrugged and smiled guiltily. “He came to the diner once when I was there with Emmett and joined us for lunch.”  
  
“And naturally, the topic of me came up,” Brian concluded.  
  
Justin gave another shrug. “I may have asked Michael about how you two became friends. Everything from then on was his doing. I didn’t push him in the direction, I swear.”  
  
“You don’t have to apologize,” Brian said.  
  
“I wasn’t,” Justin replied.  
  
Brian smiled, wondering how much more Michael might have told Justin. But he didn’t want to bring it up. “Good old Mikey. He’s never needed that much of a push anyway,” he said, bringing the topic to a close.  
  
Justin smiled in response and turned the page of the album in his lap. He pointed at a picture, taken at a dinner table, the guests all huddling together to fit in the frame of the camera. “This is Vic, isn’t it?” He pointed at a man that he remembered Debbie telling him about.  
  
Brian nodded, looking over Justin’s shoulder as he sat down behind him on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand.  
  
Justin found himself in the picture, laughing in the camera, not a care in the world, a part of this colorful bunch of people who called themselves family. They were, Justin suddenly realized. Only, he no longer was part of them. Sure, they tried to welcome him back. But there was always this look in their eyes – not pity, but a prevalent sadness underneath all the forced cheerfulness. They didn’t know him any longer. He was a stranger wearing the body of their former friend. A painful stab caused Justin to snap for air and quickly turn the page. He didn’t want to look at their happy faces anymore.  
  
What was he doing to them besides filling their minds with false hope? Reminding them of what they lost. Taunting them by flaunting the body of someone they used to know and love in their faces instead of leaving them alone to grieve the loss of a friend; instead of allowing them to forget and to eventually move on.  
  
Tears sprang into his eyes and he had trouble swallowing, his throat felt so thick. He snapped the album shut. It wasn’t helping anyway. Brian noticed the change in the blond and placed a palm on his shoulder, begging him to talk to him without actually using words.  
  
Justin shook off his hand, not able to bear the contact.  
  
“What?” Brian asked.  
  
When no response came, he tried again. “Justin! Tell me what’s wrong,” he told him.  
  
“Tell me what’s fucking not,” Justin countered, voice raw and louder than he’d intended, but he didn’t care.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Brian pressed out, coldness spreading through his body and making him strangely calm.  
  
“This. Us. This game we’re playing that no one knows the rules to. Stumbling blindly through the darkness, desperately hoping to reach something familiar that never comes.” Justin took a breath. “I think I stopped hoping that someone will eventually turn on the light.”  
  
Brian nodded gravely. He understood exactly what Justin was saying.  
  
Justin pulled himself up from the floor and sat down on the sofa, opposite Brian. They both turned sideways so they could look at each other and Justin continued.  
  
“In my heart, I feel that I love you. Because my body knows you. Knows that I’ve loved you. But I want to remember it. I  _need_  to remember it. It’s driving me mad. It’s like having misplaced your keys. You know they’re there somewhere but you just can’t see them. My body has this craving for you but not the you that I know now and have fallen in love with again. It craves the you that my heart remembers. I’m sorry I can’t explain it better.”  
  
“I get it,” Brian mumbled.  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Your body doesn’t crave  _me_. It craves  _us_. You don’t simply want your memories back, you want  _us_  back. And  _me_  being here is only one half of it. And it’s taunting you. Like dangling a bottle of scotch in front of an alcoholic. There  _I_ am. But  _I_ ’m not a substitute for  _us_.” Too late Brian realized what he’d said, but he was so tired, too damn exhausted to care.   
  
Justin nodded.  
  
“So, I should go,” Brian concluded.  
  
“What?! No!!” Justin cried out. That wasn’t the conclusion he’d wanted Brian to draw. He wasn’t sure if he even had a conclusion in mind.  
  
“Yes,” Brian replied calmly. “You’re not the only one who’s missing  _us_. It’s like looking at a picture, hoping it will come to life, but it’s not enough. Holding on to it because it’s all that is left – that’s what we’re doing. Holding on, hoping despite having been proven otherwise. Clinging to that damn picture so hard, its edges are torn and frazzled. The harder we cling to it, the faster it’s tearing apart.” Brian gulped. “I’m falling in love with you but it feels like I’m cheating. On you.” Brian shook his head in confusion. “The old you. Cheating on what we used to have. I feel like I’m losing my mind, my sanity, Justin.” And there it was – the naked truth, stripped bare from any and all pretenses.   
  
The loft was quiet for the longest of times. The only sound audible – Brian’s wordless cursing at the fucking injustice of God and the universe. Brian chuckled. Never in all his years as an altar boy, had he believed in God as fervently as in this second when he was vehemently rejecting his very existence.  
  
Justin’s resigned voice finally broke the silence and stopped the plethora of execrations directed at his Maker.  
  
“What was he like?” the blond asked, eerily quiet and innocently curious.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Justin.”  
  
Brian had to think about it before he answered, “He was you. Only he knew me. The real me. I didn’t have to be…” Brian swallowed his pride and said it, “to be… afraid with him.”  
  
“Afraid?” Justin interrupted.  
  
“Of being found out for what I am. Because he’d already seen every miserable part of me; knew every aspect of my shortcomings, was familiar with all my inadequacies.” Brian sighed. Now that he started, he might as well finish. It didn’t even occur to him to feel guilty for talking about Justin in the third person. In fact, he felt sort of relieved. “In the beginning, I tried so hard to keep him out. Not to let him see me. But somehow he did.”  
  
Justin looked wistfully at Brian. “Can’t  _I_  do that again?” He sounded so very much like a little child who knew the answer would be ‘no’ but had to try one last time anyway.  
  
“You could,” Brian admitted. “But it’s going to break your heart.  _I’m_  going to break your heart, like I broke his. Over and over again. And sometimes on purpose. And I’m not sure I can live through that again. I can’t see the disappointment on your face again when you find out what the old you knew; what he learned through endless painful encounters.”  
  
“Can’t you change these things about you?” The blond asked, reminding Brian even more of the child that wouldn’t let go.  
  
“There’s nothing to change. Those things? I already did them. They’re already done. And even if I could change them, I wouldn’t. I guess it’s one of those things that I was talking about – things that you’ll hate finding out: I will not change for anyone.” Even as he said it, Brian knew it was a lie. He’d already changed. For Justin. Because of Justin. And with Justin. The Justin that was no more. But he still plowed on, reciting another one of his mantras, one that he still believed in despite having been proven to the contrary, “To change  _for_  someone is not love. Sunshine knew that.”  
  
Justin pressed a hand on his mouth and nose, silencing the sobs that were threatening to break free. They really were different people now. Strangers. Brian had stopped calling him Sunshine weeks ago.  
  
Brian watched Justin’s body convulse with the effort of suppressing his sobs. Twice he moved to inch closer to Justin, intending to take him in his arms, provide some sort of comfort. But Justin was having none of that. He wouldn’t allow Brian to come closer; instead he just sat there, looking into empty space.  
  
Brian wondered how in hell their lives had gotten this complicated. It was not even three months ago that they were happy and planning their wedding. Now they sat apart from each other – on opposite ends of the sofa, but it might as well have been opposite ends of the world – strangers to each other.  
  
Brian stood, his body restless to release the tension of emotional distress. He walked over to the kitchen area and pulled two more beers from the fridge. Sitting down in his previous spot again, he passed one of the bottles to Justin who took it wordlessly. They drank in silence. When Brian finished, he pulled himself up and walked into the bedroom, sliding the closet doors open and pulling out his black duffel bag. He meticulously started packing things he would need for the next couple of days as he went over the list in his head. Apart from two suits he would need for the office which he pulled from the closet and spread on the bed, he packed some casual clothes, as well as underwear and socks. He went into the bathroom to get his shaving kit and other necessary toiletries. He stopped dead in his tracks when he came face to face with Justin upon exiting the bathroom. The blond stood examining the half-packed bag, tears brimming in his eyes.  
  
“What are you doing?” Justin asked desperately.  
  
“Packing.” Brian didn’t even have the energy to mock him for the obvious question.  
  
“Where are you going?” the blond asked.  
  
“Back to the house. Gonna stay there for a while,” Brian replied, not looking Justin in the eye.  
  
The blond heaved an unsteady breath and said, “No. I’ll leave. It’s your home. You shouldn’t have to be the one who leaves.”  
  
“No!” Brian interjected. “You stay. I don’t want to be here anyway.” In a whispered voice, he added, “I can’t be here. Too many—” He gulped visibly, leaving the rest unsaid.  
  
Justin nodded.   
  
 _Memories._  
  
The memories were killing Brian. Of what he had too much, Justin had not enough.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin left for New York two days later, taking only his clothes and leaving behind every picture or any of the other things that would remind him of Brian or their time together. Brian didn’t find out until he came back to the loft about one week later to pick up some more clothes and found all of Justin’s gone.  
  
He sat down on the edge of his too big bed, braced his elbows on his knees and, burying his face in his hands, finally allowed himself to mourn. He cried until the tears dried out but his body continued to dry heave. Hours later, he quietly pulled open the drawer of his bedside table and reached for the very back, pulling out a small, velvet-covered box. He weighed it in his hand carefully before chucking it at the opposite wall. He watched in satisfaction as it sprung open and bounced off, falling to the floor, its platinum contents rolling in opposite directions under the kitchen appliances.  
  
Brian quickly packed a bag and left the loft, calling a moving company on his way down to the Corvette. He’d make sure they’d pack and move all of his other shit to Britin without him needing to enter the loft ever again.  
  



	16. Chapter 16

Justin’s POV  
  
I entered my tiny New York apartment and crumpled onto the decrepit, moth-eaten couch that one of the upstairs neighbors had so graciously bestowed upon me. Ever since my first day back in New York, I couldn’t stomach living in Tasha’s place. I only realized that I didn’t know where in New York I lived, after exiting the Greyhound that took me here. I had to call my mother who had to search through her address book to tell me the name of the street. Tasha was genuinely happy to see me, after the first shock had worn off. She was nice and helpful and everything, but, just as the people in Pittsburgh, she looked at me with this expectation in her gaze, waiting for me to remember her. I couldn’t take the look any longer. So I went out and rented the first hole in the wall that I came across that fit into my tight budget – some money I had left from Brian and some that my mother had given me. Tasha was the one who re-introduced me to Jeremy, my only other friend in New York City and who, in turn, made sure I could come back to the two waiter jobs I had before the accident happened. Working two jobs was providing me with just enough money to pay for this place. Luckily, the owner of the Italian restaurant where I worked every evening shift was a nice, older lady who decided I needed a substitute mother and insisted on feeding me before I started work. And after every shift, she’d pack my bag with leftovers. So, I didn’t need to worry about food or groceries.  
  
Moving from Tasha’s place into this apartment only took me two trips back and forth. I had to bring my computer and clothes, and some personal stuff like sketch books, photos, personal files. I tried to bury all those in a few boxes in my closet. I already knew they were no use to me as I tried to regain my memories. But the closet was too small and I ended up stacking them near the entrance door. I’m sure their presence disturbed my feng shui but it was just another fucked up thing on top of a thousand other fuck ups that I couldn’t bring myself to give a damn about.  
  
Thankfully, Jeremy was there for me. He was a real friend and never gave me the impression that I was somehow different than before. He too worked in the coffee shop where I now had the early morning shift, serving pretentious eight bucks a cup coffee to equally pretentious snobs in suits. I hated the ones that wore Armani the most. Jeremy tried to persuade me into going out a couple of times, but thankfully, I had the perfect excuse. I had a fairly crazy schedule that allowed me only four hours of sleep a night, but I wasn’t about to complain. Being busy kept me from thinking too much. And I could really appreciate that.  
  
I worked every weekend shift, covered every shift of every guy who called in sick and took every additional hour I was offered. But not because I needed the money – even though it had been an issue in the beginning. Apart from paying rent, I didn’t have too many expenses now. I never went to clubs or bars. Though I occasionally wanted to get drunk, especially when an evening turned to night too slowly and the night seemingly wouldn’t end. I always tried to cut sleeping time as short as possible.  
  
I hadn’t seen Brian or spoken to him once since that fateful day some two or three weeks ago, but I always dreamt about him now. In the beginning, the first week or so, my sleep was dreamless. When the dreams first started coming, I thought they were shadows of memories. But I quickly realized they weren’t. It was just his face I kept seeing, always hovering above me. Whenever I was feeling particularly down, I fantasized about him being there to watch over me. And then I called myself pathetic. Strangely enough, every time I did, I always heard his voice in my head, spitting the words.  
  
I tried not to feel sorry for myself and managed pretty okay, mostly, but his picture kept haunting me, whether I was asleep or not. I loved him. I was  _in love_  with him. And it was painful to know that once there had been a time when he had loved me as well. I wondered what that would feel like – being loved by him. I knew he still loved me. But not the me that I was now. He loved the old me. The one I couldn’t be anymore. The one I forgot how to be.  
  
With every passing day it became harder to distract myself from what I’ve lost. A couple of times I went to see my admitting neurologist. He made some pretty pictures of the inside of my head, looking for scarring from the previous surgery or anything physical that might explain my continued amnesia. But there was nothing. No surprise there. He advised to continue with therapy and gave me a few names of known experts in the field. I only went twice. They asked the same questions, tried the same techniques, and conducted the same tests as all the others in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia where Brian had taken me twice. I knew that none of the specialists or their approaches would help and I didn’t have the money, or the energy, to let them fill my head with false hope. I cancelled all of my future appointments after the second session, and threw away the doctors’ cards after deleting their numbers from my cell.  
  
I lay on my narrow single bed and played with the buttons on the phone that my mother had gotten for me. I still had my old cell, but I couldn’t remember the PIN to unlock it, so it remained burrowed somewhere in the few boxes with my personal stuff that I brought over from Tasha’s apartment. I considered calling my mother but abandoned the idea quickly. I didn’t feel any connection to her apart from knowing in my rational mind that she cared about me. Just as the last few calls I had given her, I would only be doing it because I wanted her to talk to me about Brian. I was using her as a well for information, playing on the knowledge that she pitied me and would eventually give in to my pleading. First, her stories focused on the happy times. She told me about wedding plans, about us defeating an evil politician; stories that focused on Brian and me being a team. Eventually she realized, I guess, that those stories were getting me nowhere memory-wise. I think she really believed I was asking her in hopes something would trigger my memory. I wasn’t; but she didn’t have to know that. Whatever the case, in time she started to tell me about the nastier stuff; things that no one else dared telling me. She recounted all the times I moved out of the loft, or left it in the middle of the night because Brian had done something to upset me. She told me about his techniques to push me away; about his elaborate plans which included fucking guys in my face, in our loft, just to show me my place; about his unwillingness to believe in love or his inability to acknowledge feelings and his ways to prove to me again and again that he didn’t need me, maybe even didn’t want me. I always cried while she told me all this, but I made it a habit to cover the phone so she wouldn’t hear me and discontinue with her tales. It hurt so bad to hear all those things about Brian, that sometimes I wondered why we had still been together. Why I had still been with him. The old me, I mean.  
  
On top of a lack of memories, now I had these warring pictures of him inside my head. I began to hate him a little; or to hate the Brian my mother was telling me about. Sometimes I wondered if that was her intention all along. And sometimes I had difficulties bringing the Brian I had come to know – the one who cared and worried – together with the picture my mother was painting – a heartless bastard who only cared for himself.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“Why did he buy that house, Mom?” Justin finally dared to ask, knowing that now that things between him and Brian seemed over once and for all, she wouldn’t lie to him. There was no reason to hold back information anymore.  
  
“Oh, honey. Why don’t you just let it be?”  
  
Justin was not about to explain his unhealthy obsession with Brian to her. And judging by the fact that she launched into the story almost immediately, he gathered that she understood.  
  
“He wanted to marry you.” Jennifer listened to the breathing on the other end of the line, but didn’t hear anything. She figured the information would come as a shock and continued talking in order for him to not have to answer and thus giving Justin a moment to collect his thoughts. “You joked about wanting to live in a house with stables and a pool. He took you seriously. I suppose, it was an engagement gift, of sorts,” Jennifer said and paused.  
  
Justin smirked humorlessly. Strangely, he wasn’t surprised. Not by the proof that there had been a time when they were honestly considering getting married, not by the fact that Emmett had kept quiet about it, and neither by Brian’s grand gesture. Brian had been very protective of the house when he’d first brought Justin there. That was well past the time where Justin had stopped asking questions, so he’d just assumed that Brian’s protectiveness was due to the fact that Justin couldn’t remember their past. Now he realized that it was because, to Brian, the house was a symbol of something more. He’d suspected as much, but before today, he just hadn’t been able to put his finger on it.  
  
“We didn’t go through with the wedding because the accident happened, right?” Justin asked sullenly.  
  
“No,” Jen answered, and surprised Justin. “You cancelled your wedding plans way before that. Actually, it was before you went to New York.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“You weren’t ready.” When Justin didn’t say anything, she continued, “He proposed for the wrong reasons, and you agreed for the wrong reasons.”  
  
“You don’t think he loved me?” Justin worried.  
  
“I’m sure he did. I never questioned that. But Brian is not the person whom people can picture to ever want to get married. And when he proposed to you so shortly after the bomb, I think we all kinda suspected that it was just because you two were scared, and in shock.”  
  
Justin’s mouth opened but no sound came from it. He breathed deep a few times before he replied anything. When he did, it was with a strain in his voice that was a mixture of resignation and weariness that made Jennifer’s heart clench. “What bomb?”  
  
Jennifer pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Justin. Nobody told you?”  
  
Justin shook his head, not caring that she couldn’t see him.  
  
“There was a bomb that went off in Babylon during a benefit for gay rights. A lot of people were injured, some died.”  
  
Justin remained quiet and Jennifer didn’t know how to interpret his silence. Afraid what kind of reaction she might cause by disclosing more information, she just waited.  
  
“He never mentioned a bomb,” Justin finally said. “He told me Babylon was just undergoing some renovations; some needed updates to the security and sound system,” Justin stated blandly, all emotion gone from his voice. “Why wouldn’t he tell me, Mom?”  
  
When Jennifer opened her mouth to answer, Justin cut in, “And don’t tell me he was just trying to protect me! I’m so sick of him trying to protect me from all the bad things in the world. What good did it do?” Justin spat the last sentence, spilling his hurt and anger that was bottled up inside. “What fucking good did it do?” Justin cried. “I’m here in New York, alone and miserable. And he’s in Pittsburgh, alone and… Is he miserable, Mom?”  
  
“Justin, what do you want me to say?” Jennifer asked helplessly, wringing her hand into the sofa cushion beside her.  
  
 _Lie to me_ , he wanted to say. “Tell me the truth,” Justin pleaded.  
  
“He’s…” Jennifer took a deep breath. “He’s fine, Justin.”  
  
Justin suspected it was a lie, designed to make him want to let go. He wasn’t ready just yet.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin’s POV  
  
While my mother was busy recounting my own past to me, I wondered if maybe she also did it in hopes to dislodge the feelings she must have known I still had for Brian. I wondered if she chose to tell me the bad stuff because she hoped I would stop loving him. Strangely, it had the opposite effect. And when I was feeling particularly heartbroken, I allowed myself to wallow in the misery of it all. I painted pictures of me as the victim in this relationship even though in my rational mind I knew Brian would have never loved back someone who couldn’t hold his ground against him.  
  
But I always distracted myself from those ponderings by thinking about how it was that my mother knew all the things she was telling me about. I never asked her, but I guess gossip from Liberty Avenue traveled far and being friends with Debbie Novotny did the rest.  
  
I was so deep in thought, I didn’t even realize that I had dialed her number as I was playing with my phone. My thumb hovered over the Send button for a few seconds before the display cleared and the numbers disappeared. I threw the phone into the sofa cushions and stretched out atop of it. I was fighting sleep. It was the middle of the night and I had come back from a dinner shift at the restaurant a couple of hours ago. I didn’t want to fall asleep because I didn’t want to dream about Brian again. I hated waking up with wet eyes even more than I hated waking up with a raging hard-on. I could take care of the latter, even if it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it had been with Brian, but the other one was more difficult to manage. So I resigned to not sleeping at all. I would only allow my eyes to close when I was so exhausted that I knew my sleep would be dreamless.  
  
My eyes strayed repeatedly to the cartons lined up against the wall to the right of the door. I didn’t exactly know what they contained; I had only glanced over all of my possessions once, when I carelessly threw them in there as I packed up my shit in Tasha’s apartment. But I knew there were a few sketch books inside one of the boxes and I was itching to see Brian’s face again. I didn’t know when exactly it started, but I began to regret not taking with me the pictures from the album Debbie had given me. I fucking longed to see his face.  
  
Getting up from the couch, I crawled over to the opposite wall on all fours and crouched beside the first box. I peeked inside. A few pencils, a box of pastel crayons, numerous tubes of paints. I moved to the next box. Framed pictures. I didn’t know I had them. I picked them up. One of Brian and me surrounded by the family; both of us in expensive tuxes, looking so incredibly happy. I wondered when this one was taken. Couldn’t have been too long ago – we both looked exactly how we did now, except maybe for the worry lines that are missing in the photo. And then it hit me – wedding rehearsal. My mother told me we’d had one. This was probably taken then. I kept staring at the photograph, imagining how it must have been like, what it must have felt like to go to bed with the knowledge that you were about to marry that man; that he wanted to marry you. When it became too painful to think about, I put it aside.  
  
I pulled another frame out of the box. Brian again, only in this one he was looking a few years younger, though not much different. It was mostly the hair. He had a small boy in his lap. This must be Gus. The only picture I had ever seen of the boy was the one in Brian’s loft where he was still a tiny baby and not really visible in the picture. In this one, he had huge brown eyes that sparkled with laughter and adorable dimples. I stared at the photograph for what felt like hours. My heart bled but if I was expecting some kind of memory to come back, then I was again disappointed. Apart from the overwhelming sense of love that I felt towards the man in this picture, there was nothing. No sense of time or situation of when this might have taken place. Absolutely nothing.  
  
I rummaged through the box some more. There were a couple of sketch books, but now that I had the photographs, I didn’t bother looking through those. There were also a couple of folders that I picked up to leaf through. One contained official documents like my birth certificate, copies of a college application, an admittance letter to PIFA, and some more. Another folder held several newspaper clippings from various newspapers and journals. Those were interesting. There was an article from a local gay newspaper titled  _A Wolf in Hero’s Clothing_  by a person named Howard Bellweather. The name didn’t ring familiar; the thought made me chuckle. I skimmed through the article when I realized it was talking about Brian, but it talked about him in a despicable way and was centered on my bashing - something I had no memory of and I didn’t want whatever little I knew from Brian about that night to be tainted by the words of the writer who so obviously disliked Brian, so I put it down again.   
  
Another one was a clipping gushing about a gay comic book hero. This must be the comic I developed with Michael. Brian had told me about it but I refused to see it at the time because I was still frustrated about not being able to paint and didn’t want a reminder of my work around in the loft. I started to search the rest of the box, hoping to find the comic book. I must own at least one copy, right? My search was interrupted when a leaflet from another folder fell into my lap; a drawing of  _Rage_  and the name in bold letters on the front. Picking it up, I recognized an event being advertised – a launching party for  _Rage, the Gay Avenger_  to be hosted in Babylon. My heart suddenly clenched and I doubled over in pain. For a second, I freaked, thinking something must be wrong, but then I realized the pain wasn’t physical. It was all in my head, figuratively speaking. I felt inexplicable anger and sadness, but above all a despair that was so overwhelming in its intensity, my vision blurred and blackened on the edges. I dimly noticed my fingers going slack and the small piece of paper falling from my hands. I lay down on the cold floor and tried to focus on my breathing, fearing another panic attack.  
  
 _I don’t want to leave. Don’t make me. You’re Rage! You can do anything. Ask me to stay! Say something. SAY SOMETHING!_  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting of this chapter is way nicer and more pleasing to the eye over [on my livejournal](http://adoringaudience.livejournal.com/42830.html).

Justin’s POV  
  
When my breathing returned back to normal, I began emptying the boxes frantically. I picked up and turned over every sheet of paper, every newspaper clipping, no matter how small. I spread them out on the floor before me. First in no particular order but then it got too messy and I ran out of place, so I began to sort through them again and arranged them in a chronological order. I recreated my life from these few boxes and their contents. At one point, I had to get up and move my few pieces of furniture around, pushing them back towards the far wall to have more floor space. Things I couldn’t classify by date went into a special column which I sorted by topic: family, work or school, Brian. When every piece of paper was spread out before me, I started from the earliest dated column and studied every piece of information intently. When the alarm clock on my phone rang, sometime short of five o’clock in the morning, I realized I had spent an entire night on my apartment floor going through the evidence of my former life. I called the coffee shop where I was working the early morning shift and, for the first time since I could remember, called in sick.  
  
This stupid leaflet about the Rage party brought back a memory. I was certain that that was what it had been. The despair and loneliness I had felt had been too immediate and too real to just be a figment of my imagination. I wasn’t going to stop until I had all of them back. Or until I went through every fucking piece that I owned that possibly held the potential to bring back more.  
  
The floor was covered by articles from various newspapers and magazines. Some of them printed out versions from online journals. My drawings, thankfully all of them dated. Whole magazines, like the ArtForum. I even discovered the first copy of  _Rage_  between some of my PIFA stuff which lay spread out there as well – graded papers, marked up drafts of later completed works. I even took out the photographs from their frames. My last five years in black on white.  
  
A carelessly crumpled booking confirmation from a hotel in Vermont brought tears to my eyes and even though I didn’t know why, I allowed myself to cry, every tear bringing me closer to a conversation that was slowly taking form inside my head. I lay on the floor, clutching pathetically at the worthless piece of paper while I welcomed and sobbed through the pain the memory brought with it.  
  
Several sketches of  _Rage_ , some of them wrinkled and partly torn on edges, some of them preliminaries to the real thing, I suppose; one was even drawn on a cardboard coaster. And another discussion – this time about jealousy, complete with a visual of a raging Brian. And I actually had to smile at that as I thought how fitting the name of the comic’s hero and title were chosen.  
  
A paper with my SAT scores and a couple of tender kisses shared in Brian’s car; my stomach doing somersaults while my own voice echoed,  _“Brian Kinney gives a shit!”_  in my head.  
  
A photo that I found behind another picture when I opened the frame, of the two of us dancing, me wearing a white scarf around my neck, made me get up and switch on the computer. After logging onto the internet, I downloaded an mp3 file and waited for it to open. As the music filled the apartment, so did the images with my head.  _“Ridiculously romantic.”_  And I cried again.  
  
Halfway through the amassed evidence of our life together, I found a plane ticket. It wasn’t a used one; it was dated sometime in the future – August 19th; a little less than one week from today. Something about the date struck me as important but it was only a feeling, not something tangible.  
  
I picked up my phone and just as I was about to call Brian, several other memories flooded my conscious but already exhausted mind. I threw the phone back in the general direction of my couch and plunged into the last box where I had earlier thrown some of my belongings into; my old phone among them. I found it and picked it up and started rummaging through the contents of the box again in search of the charger. Finally plucking it into the wall socket, I waited impatiently until it was recharged enough for me to switch it on.  
  
While I waited, my eyes skimmed over the few columns on the floor I had not yet worked through. It was strange. Rationally I knew that all of my memories were back, but I not only needed to work through them to make sure they were really there, but I also needed to put them into context. Every literature I’ve read talked about how to get your memories back, how to trigger them to re-emerge, taught different techniques, and how to deal with disappointment. Not one of the books or pamphlets talked about what a mess this would be. It felt like someone had emptied every container that held all of the memories and now I needed to pick them all up, one by one, and put them back on the shelf that they belonged to. I remembered a fight with Michael, but I needed to focus on the memory and to think it through to be able to place it in the right chronological context. Only then did I understand the bigger picture. Every memory was back again, but it was missing its reference points, just floating around in my head. I would see Brian throwing me out of the loft, but I had no knowledge about when it happened until I focused on it, and let the movie unravel itself in front of my inner eye. It was slightly frustrating, but not nearly as frustrating as having no memories at all had been. I was delirious with joy as I finally punched in the code in my old cell, and smiled when it was accepted and the welcome sound greeted me. I needed to understand why I was in New York. Why I came to New York in the first place. I didn’t know what I expected to find but I felt like I needed to focus on the most recent days leading up to the accident to understand the importance of the date on the plane ticket.  
  
I glanced through the received calls – Brian mostly, which came as no surprise; and the numbers dialed – again, mostly Brian. We talked at least once every day. That’s good, I guess. We wouldn’t have called each other as often if we’d parted on bad terms, right? I switched to the text messages. There were a lot of them. Some were single words, obviously answers to questions. There was no way I could make any sense of them. An idea hit me and I searched to see if this phone saved the sent messages too. It did and a tedious hour began where I flipped back and forth between sent and received messages, going through time stamps, trying to reconstruct our ‘conversations’.

 

 

<>>>><<<<>

 

Sent on 05/26/2005, 10:56 AM

_One week down. Twelve more to go._

* * *  
  
---  
  
Received on 05/26/2005, 11:38 AM

_Twelve weeks and one day._

* * *  
  
Sent on 05/26/2005, 11:40 AM

_Aw, you counted the days! ;)  
_

* * *  
  
Received on 05/26/2005, 11:44 AM

_Twat._  
  
 

 

 

 

<>>>><<<<>

 

Sent on 05/30/2005, 04:11 PM

_Went shopping with Jeremy today. Saw the coolest sofa ever. Emailed you a link to the store._  
  
---  
  
* * *

Received on 05/30/2005, 04:14 PM

_I’m on my way to Britin. Will email you when I’m back.  
_  
  
* * *

Sent on 05/30/2005, 04:17 PM

_You called it Britin!! I win._  
  
* * *

Received on 05/30/2005, 04:20 PM

_Stupid blond twat._  
  
* * *

Sent on 05/30/2005, 04:21 PM

_I ♥ you._  
  
* * *

Received on 05/30/2005, 04:24 PM

_Did you forget how to spell LOVE?_  
  
 

 

 

<>>>><<<<>

 

Received on 06/06/2005, 07:33 PM

_The painters started today. They’ll need a week to finish. Cost me an extra grand. You so owe me._  
  
---  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/06/2005, 07:38 PM

_Will you take it out in trade?_  
  
* * *

Received on 06/06/2005, 07:40 PM

_Depends on the quality of the goods._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/06/2005, 07:41 PM

_They’re all natural._  
  
* * *

Received on 06/06/2005, 07:43 PM

_I’m hard. Call you in 10. You’re going to take care of it._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/06/2005, 07:45 PM

_Yes, sir! It’ll be my pleasure. ;)_  
  
 

 

 

<>>>><<<<>

 

Received on 06/08/2005, 08:28 AM

_Call the painters. I emailed you the number. They want to know if you really want THAT color on the bedroom wall._  
  
---  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/08/2005, 08:40 AM

_Didn’t you give them my color schemes?_  
  
* * *

Received on 06/08/2005, 08:43 AM

_I did. They think you’re crazy._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/08/2005, 08:47 AM

_Just tell them to follow the instructions._  
  
* * *

Received on 06/08/2005, 08:51 AM

_I did. They still think you’re crazy. Told them you’re an artist. Now they want to make sure they got the shade right._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/08/2005, 08:52 AM

_Did you scare them?_  
  
* * *

Received on 06/08/2005, 08:55 AM

_I might have mentioned that you turn into a blond version of Mr. Hide when they fuck up the tone._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/08/2005, 09:00 AM

_Briiiaaaan!!! How am I supposed to help? I’m hundreds of miles away! Go over there and sort it out._  
  
* * *

Received on 06/08/2005, 09:03 AM

_Not an artist, Sunshine. Don’t know shit about if it’s the right color or not. Call them._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/08/2005, 09:39 AM

_Ok. Crisis averted. 2 thirds from the floor milk chocolate, upper third crème, gold bordure. Call me a lesbian and you’re a dead man._  
  
 

 

 

<>>>><<<<>

 

Received on 06/14/2005, 04:02 PM

_The bed came today. The delivery guys were fucking hot._  
  
---  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/14/2005, 04:15 PM

_How hard was it?_  
  
* * *

Received on 06/14/2005, 04:19 PM

_Oh, I was VERY hard._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/14/2005, 04:22 PM

_That’s not what I meant._  
  
* * *

Received on 06/14/2005, 04:25 PM

_I had to tip them with money. You’re fucking expensive, Sunshine._  
  
* * *

Sent on 06/14/2005, 04:26 PM

_Luv U 2._  
  
* * *

Received on 06/14/2005, 04:27 PM

_Seriously. How hard can it be to spell LOVE YOU TOO??_  
  
 

 

 

<>>>><<<<>

  
  
I had to smile at the easy banter and felt a pang through my chest. I missed him so goddamn much.   
  
My body ached from lack of sleep, my stomach grumbled because I hadn’t eaten in almost 20 hours. I had nothing in this apartment, so I decided to order in. There was no way I was going outside until I’d made sense of this mess. I pulled open the drawer where I kept the takeout menus from nearby restaurants and searched for a Thai place. It was nostalgia more than anything else. I knew now that Thai was Brian’s favorite and I needed to feel close to him right now; even through such stupid things as ordering his favorite food.  
  
A postcard-sized flyer fell into my hand as I searched through the drawer. I remembered receiving it with the mail a week or so ago. It had no return address on the envelope, but I was pretty sure I recognized Emmett’s curly handwriting. That’s why I hadn’t spared it a second look – every reminder of Pittsburgh or Brian had been painful at that time. It was an ad for the reopening of Babylon and I wasn’t sure what Emmett was trying to achieve by sending me one. Did he honestly believe I’d come back? What for? That’s why I had thrown it in there with the rest of the menus and forgot all about it. But as I held it in my hand right then, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the little piece of paper. It was obviously one of Brian’s works. The flyer showed the new lettering of Babylon – a light blue on a darker grey-blueish background. An invitation to send a huge Fuck You to the heteros that tried to take down Pittsburgh’s favorite gay dance club and a slogan that proclaimed, 

 

 

 

BABYLON

We Are Not Scared.

The Party Continues on August, 19th.

Come and celebrate our reopening!

  
  
  
Some more information followed. Free drinks special, announcement of some big name DJ hosting the party, and more trivialities. But I stared transfixed at the date and tried to make any sense of it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter where the formatting is way prettier and easier to read over [on my livejournal](http://adoringaudience.livejournal.com/43352.html).

Justin’s POV  
  
  
I remembered Brian talking about the renovations of the club during the time when I lived at the loft with him after he brought me back from New York. He said he didn’t know how long it would take, he hoped it would be finished the same year because he didn’t want to miss out on the New Year’s Eve Party – it was one of the most profitable nights in Babylon. He must have rushed the contractor and probably paid him a shitload of an extra bonus to make him finish the work early.  
  
But the plane ticket was issued way before that. There was no way he could have known Babylon would be ready by then. This made no sense whatsoever. What was it about that date that made it so important? The chaos in my head was too complete to find this one single information that I wanted, so I staged it for now and called the take-out place instead.  
  
While I waited for the food to be delivered, I turned my head and stared at the computer as if it were my enemy. I haven’t yet been able to log into my previous email accounts since I couldn’t remember the login information. But just as the one for my cell came back to me, I hoped the memories would be there as well once I accessed the web page of the email provider. I typed in the address and sat waiting for the page to load. Tentatively, I closed my eyes as I let my fingers flit over the keyboard and typed in my login information. I smiled when my fingers moved almost on their own accord and the password suddenly stood out very clearly in my mind.  
  
There were tons of new messages, as would be expected I guess, after about two months of absence. Most of them weren’t important anyway, so I made quick work of deleting them. Finding Brian’s emails was easy since I obviously kept them in a separate folder. Putting together questions and responses was even easier as we only added the reply to the top of an existing message, starting a new thread every couple of days. I started at the bottom and read my way through to the most recent emails.  
  


  
**To:**  b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** May, 30 2005, 3:55 PM  
 **Subject:** Shopping

  
Hey Brian, Jeremy and I went window shopping today. (Ok, actually, it was supposed to be a normal shopping tour but since neither he nor I are swimming in money, it ended up being window shopping.) Anyways, we walked past this awesome store with designer Italian furniture. They have like everything. We didn’t go inside but I saw this sofa that would be totally perfect for Britin, don’t you think?  


  
  
It’s by Roberto Ventura. Isn’t it great? It’s Italian. You like Italian furniture, don’t you? Can we get it for the living room? I’ll even let you call it ‘salon’ if you’d prefer that. It would look good next to a fireplace.  
  
Love you,  
Justin

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** May, 30 2005, 8:37 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: Shopping

  
First, ‘salon,’ Sunshine? You’ve known me for how long?  
  
Secondly, you may be a starving artist but your taste surpasses a king’s salary. When the fuck did you become so expensive? I remember you living in a rat-infested hole in the wall in glorious Pittsburgh, and now you’re (window) shopping for Italian designer sofas in New York fucking City? Doesn’t your equally starving friend wonder why you’re looking at exorbitantly expensive furniture?  
  
I will go to great lengths to accommodate your artistic ‘tastes’ but we are NOT buying a sofa that looks like it belongs in a pseudo-rococo turn of the century brothel. Pick something else. And you do remember that you had the painters paint one of the walls plum, right? Please make sure to pick something that won’t make my eyes start bleeding every time I come home.  
  
There’s no way to ask this without making me sound like your concerned mother and Debbie combined, so I’m just gonna ask you straightforward and expect the same kind of answer from you: Do you need money? And please do remember that there is no need to act all independent and self-sufficient with me, alright? Besides, if you lose a pound when you come home, Debbie’s gonna have my balls. Ball. And your mother has perfected the ‘Feel-guilty-and-be-ashamed’ glare ever since she’s been hanging out with Deb. So don’t bullshit me. If you need money, come out and say so.  
  
B.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** May, 30 2005, 10:41 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: Shopping

  
I don’t need money and I’m not being modest. It was more like Jeremy’s always a little tight towards the end of the month, and I didn’t want him to feel bad while I was buying things for myself. Ergo window shopping. Besides, I wouldn’t have qualms about asking you for money. What’s a little more with the amounts I already owe you, right? ;) And it’s not like letting you buy all the Italian sofas is that much different from asking.  
  
I really like that sofa, Brian. And it’s not rococo, pseudo or otherwise.  **This**  is:   


  
  
I know what color the wall is, I chose it. And it’s exactly the same shade of plum as the sofa. With a couple of green plants and some moss green throw pillows, it’ll be perfect. Please? I already asked if it could be ready for delivery till the 19th. They are custom-made, you know.  
  
They said it shouldn’t be a problem. Do you really hate it?  
  
Love, J.

* * *

   
  
  
What was the importance of the 19th? It was driving me crazy.  


  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** May, 31 2005, 8:06 AM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: Shopping 

  
Scheming, manipulative twink.  
  
I don’t totally hate it. It just isn’t something that I would have chosen.

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** May, 31 2005, 11:11 AM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: Shopping

  
I know you prefer the sleek, uncluttered, and sophisticated look, but it just doesn’t work with a country mansion. We can keep looking. The living room doesn’t need to be finished on the 19th.  
  
Your scheming, manipulative twink.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** May, 31 2005, 08:46 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Shopping

  
Oh, what the fuck. Go for it. Buy the stupid faux-rococo sofa. Put it on my Platinum AmEx card. You know the number. Email me the delivery date but make sure Cynthia clears my schedule first.  
  
Brat!  
  
B.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 1 2005, 0:03 AM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Shopping

  
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.  
ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.ILY.  
  
And I promise to be okay with whatever you pick out for the bedroom.  
  
:-***

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 1 2005, 8:12 AM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Shopping

  
You’re not only gonna be okay with it, you’re gonna love it. Because my taste is impeccable.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 1 2005, 1:35 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Shopping

  
Of course it is. You chose me. :P

* * *

   
  
  


 

<>>>><<<<>

  


  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 1 2005, 8:21 PM  
 **Subject:** your opinion is required

  
Look at this ad for me? Elana, the new girl in the art department, worked on it. She did exactly what I asked her to do but it just doesn’t seem right. Something’s missing.

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
There was a file attached to the email; a format I didn’t recognize but I clicked on it anyway and watched as it took the computer a few seconds to open the necessary program. It was a digitalized one-page mock-up of what was supposed to eventually become a print ad in a high gloss magazine, I surmised. It was for a software developer that I had already heard of. The components were all great but I immediately realized what Brian meant when he said something was amiss. In my mind, I repositioned some of the elements to make the ad look more harmonic and added a frame to the whole thing to visually tie them together. The whole time I was studying the mock-up, I had this thought in the back of my head, reminding me of the fact that I had the graphic design software that I needed to open and work with the file installed on my computer. A computer which I used in New York. I wondered how often I had done such favors for Brian in the past. Apparently, often enough that it merited me having the software. But I was too anxious to continue with my reading to dwell too long on that.  
  
It was weird to read our correspondence. It seemed I had no memory of it in my head, but as soon as I read through an email, the memory was there. Not only of the contents of the mail but of all the circumstances surrounding it. I knew where I had been sitting when I wrote back; knew whether I had been relaxed, angry, or busy. It seemed like I needed the trigger which only urged me to keep reading.  


  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 1 2005, 10:16 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: your opinion is required

  
Did you tell Elana that you think something’s missing?   
  
I moved some elements around and added a few schematic suggestions for a few more, plus a border. See for yourself and tell me if it comes closer to what you want.  
  
J.

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
I saw that I had sent Brian a file back but I didn’t stop to look at it.  


**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 2 2005, 08:20 AM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: your opinion is required

  
We hired Elana only a couple of weeks ago and she did deliver exactly what I asked of her. I can’t go over and bitch at her about it because it turned out I didn’t like what I asked for.  
  
Your changes are good. I forwarded the mock-up to the art department to work them in.

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 2 2005, 1:31 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: your opinion is required

  
You’re welcome (though you could try to actually say thank you, you know). ;)  
  
What I take from your pretend excuse is that Cynthia threatened to leave you if you go off on another one of your art department employees. So now you have to try and play nice. :D

* * *

   
  
  


 

<>>>><<<<>

  


  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 7 2005, 10:02 AM  
 **Subject:** Image is everything

  
Cancelled my standing order of Magnums at trojancondoms.com today. They actually had one of their service monkeys give me a call to make sure I was still alive. Your ruin my image.

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 7 2005, 12:45 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: Image is everything 

  
First, it was YOUR idea. Second, I hate to destroy your pretty pink dreams and shit, but they probably just called because without you as the most valued customer they’ll be bankrupt soon.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 7 2005, 2:14 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: Image is everything

  
They probably will be. I promised to keep my lube order with them. The guy almost sobbed with relief. I suspect he’s paid a commission.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 7 2005, 5:54 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: Image is everything

  
Picture me grinning smugly (and don’t think I didn’t notice that you ignored the first part of my reply). I’m chanting ‘Brian Kinney’s sooooo in looooove’ right now. ;))

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 7 2005, 6:37 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: Image is everything 

  
You know, it’s not too late for me to call and cancel the flight reservation.

* * *

   
  
  
**To:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **From:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **Sent:** June, 7 2005, 8:19 PM  
 **Subject:** RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Image is everything

  
Idle threats. I am not afraid!!

* * *

   
  
  
  
Could it be what I thought it could mean? It would explain quite a lot. I had to listen to more than just a few stories about Brian’s tricking, courtesy of Michael who was a lot easier to work than Emmett, but I couldn’t bring it together with the picture I had of Brian; the picture that he let me see. I had been told that Brian used to trick a lot, despite being in a relationship with me. I still remembered the pain I felt when the memory-blank version of me got wind of that fact and how I struggled to understand why Brian would still need other people. But eventually I’d found peace when I realized that he wasn’t tricking then. He never came back smelling like someone else during the whole time that I lived with him after the accident, but I had concluded that it was simply because he had his hands full with taking care of me. That it was simply because he wasn’t in the mood to trick or because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. But it made perfect sense now. What if he didn’t trick because we had an agreement? Of course, the family and friends wouldn’t have said anything – they wouldn’t have known. My mind reeled at the possibility but why didn’t Brian say something while I was in the Pitts? Was he regretting it? From my emails it seemed like it really was his idea. Maybe he changed his mind and didn’t want to go through with it anymore. Could it be that he was actually glad I couldn’t remember about any of this? I shook my head, certain that these memories would be back shortly as well and clicked on the next email conversation.   
  


  
**To:** jtaylor@gmail.com  
 **From:** b.kinney@kinnetik.com  
 **Sent:** June, 14 2005, 10:03 AM  
 **Subject:** Papers to sign

  
Print out the papers I’m sending you as an attachment, sign them, and mail them to Ted. Something about adjustments or expansions in the health insurance form that Kinnetik is undergoing. All domestic partners need to sign. I’m also enclosing a copy of my health care proxy since you are my primary agent and need to be informed of my medical wishes, which are stated in the document. Don’t queen out on me. It’s not about the cancer. I’m not sick and I’m not planning on dying soon. I plan to fuck your tight little ass for many, many years to come.  
  
It’s just a formality.  
  
Love, B.

* * *

   
  
---  
  
  
  
I smirked when I noticed that, despite Brian’s assurances that all this legal stuff was just formalities, this was the only email so far he’d signed with ‘Love’. And I saw that, wisely, I had not replied to it. There were a bunch of other emails but most of them dealt with the interior design of Britin and, skimming trough them superficially, I decided I could read those later.  
  
Just then the doorbell rang, jarring me back into the real world, and I hurried to answer it. Reading our email correspondence, I had almost forgotten about the food I had ordered.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, more reader-friendly formatting available [on my livejournal](http://adoringaudience.livejournal.com/43530.html).

Justin’s POV  
  
I felt strangely awake despite not having slept for over thirty-six hours. The adrenalin that came with every new memory kept my heart pumping wildly and my mind busy. Sometimes, a new flash of my past would come with a painful stab to my heart and I wasn’t even trying to keep my tears inside anymore. But I couldn’t stop – no matter how excruciating the past sometimes seemed. It was like an urge to have more, and more, always more. My mouse moved over an IM service and I double-clicked to launch it. Logging on was easy and once online, I clicked on the ‘History’ button. There were quite a few conversations saved and I clicked randomly on one, and started to read.  
  


  
**LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 09:54 AM]:**  I’m getting so aggravated by all those stupid interior design and decorating magazines.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 09:58 AM]:**  You actually bought interior design magazines??? That’s so… lesbianic.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/09/05, 10:00 AM]:**  Shut up. I want our home to look beautiful and I just wanted to browse through them for inspiration.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:02 AM]:**  Yeah? How’s that coming along?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:02 AM]:**  I’m aggravated, as I said.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:02 AM]:**  Spill.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:03 AM]:**  It’s frustrating. I mean, what the fuck, Brian?? People actually pay for those magazines?!?!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:03 AM]:**  You did.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:04 AM]:**  Not helpful!!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:03 AM]:**  Sorry. Rant away.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:04 AM]:**  Do people actually pay for interior designers to make their homes look like the ones in these stupid magazines??  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:05 AM]:**  ‘Cause, if they are, there’s seriously something wrong with this world.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:07 AM]:**  Is ‘minimalistic’ the slogan for this century? Did I not get the memo? Why the fuck does every interior design in the last couple of years look like ‘just moved in’? Or is oddly reminiscent of a hospital? Why do people want to live like this????  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:07 AM]:**  Why go home if it looks exactly like your office?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:09 AM]:**  No wonder people are cold and uncommunicative. They live in cold homes, stripped bare of anything personal. It is bound to reflect upon their personalities eventually. They’re as empty as their homes. It actually explains the conformity of the public opinion, and the lack of everything remotely resembling individuality.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:10 AM]:**  But most of all I wonder, how one can call this style a style at all. The lack of design is not design. The absence of taste cannot be called taste.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:11 AM]:**  I guess I could have a show and hang empty canvases on every wall. But it wouldn’t make me an artist. It would make me a pretentious snob.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:14 AM]:**  Are you done?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:14 AM]:**  I don’t know. Am I?  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:14 AM]:**  Go and study interior design then.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:15 AM]:**  You know, I just might.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:15 AM]:**  I should try my hand at furniture design instead of art. That’s a real market niche.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:16 AM]:**  So, you’re going to become a carpenter then?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:17 AM]:**  Naw, there’s probably no real money to be made of it. Plus, being an artist isn’t as messy as I imagine being a carpenter would be.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:18 AM]:**  There’s my spoiled, WASP, elitist entrepreneur.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:18 AM]:**  Fuck You!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:18 AM]:**  Not now. I have a meeting in ten.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:19 AM]:**  And I’m not elitist.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:19 AM]:**  But you agree that you’re spoiled?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:20 AM]:**  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make money. YOU taught me that!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:21 AM]:**  But aren’t artists supposed to suffer for their art?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:22 AM]:**  Well, I suffer in different ways.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:22 AM]:**  Oh, right. You fly business instead of first class.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:23 AM]:**  Fuck you.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:24 AM]:**  You already said that!  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:24 AM]:**  That’s because I really, really want to fuck you.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:25 AM]:**  Don’t make me hard. I told you I have a meeting in a few minutes.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:25 AM]:**  You can be hard during your meeting. And think of me. :]  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:26 AM]:**  I will think of you, Sunshine. After all, it is your ad I’m going to pitch to the client.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:27 AM]:**  Awww, you think of me during a client meeting. That’s sooo romantic…  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:27 AM]:**  Did you blot out everything after my first five words?  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:30 AM]:**  I have to go now. Cynthia just buzzed that the client arrived.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:31 AM]:**  Sunshine?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:31 AM]:**  Shhhh… i’m jerkin off to teh thought of you being hard during a cleint meetin and thinkin of me  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:32 AM]:**  Now I am hard. You’re gonna pay for that!  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:32 AM]:**  i’d luv 2  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/03/05, 10:33 AM]:**  Gotta go. Have a nice orgasm.  
 **KinnetikCEO logged off.**  
---  
  
  
  
  
I finished reading this saved instant messaging conversation and noticed I had been smiling all the way through. The lighthearted teasing between us lifted my heavy heart a little. And I remembered sitting on the subway on my way to several appointments with galleries, leafing through interior design magazines and thinking, that if Brian could see me now, he’d call me a lesbian for sure. I laughed and welcomed the memory back.  
  
Browsing through several different folders where I’d saved various art projects, photos, and one whole folder with hot gay porn, I came upon a folder titled ‘Keeper’. Curious, because I didn’t yet have the slightest idea what may lie behind it, I clicked on it and found one single file saved inside. The name of the file was a date and I double-clicked on it. It was another saved IM session.  
  


  
**LetTheSunShine logged on**  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:16 PM]:**  If I was a better man, I’d studiously NOT mention the fact that it is Friday evening and you’re obviously home and not in Babylon. However, I am not (a better man). Picture me gleefully staring at your username and the green dot next to it symbolizing you’re online.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:18 PM]:**  And because I AM a better man than that, I am not going to remark upon the fact, that you – a homosexual male at the peak of his twenty-two year old life in the most exciting city in this great country of ours – is also spending a Friday evening at home. Who’s pathetic now?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:20 PM]:**  Touché.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:21 PM]:**  Never take on years of experience.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:22 PM]:**  And what exactly would you expect me to do in Babylon?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:24 PM]:**  Brian, I know we joke a lot about it and it’s fun and all but can I get serious for a moment?  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:25 PM]:**  Sure. Shoot.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:26 PM]:**  And you won’t call me a twat or a lesbian or anything?!  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:27 PM]:**  Promise!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:27 PM]:**  Okay, I promise.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:30 PM]:**  Okay, so… I know half of Britin is already furnished. And I also know that you spent thousands of dollars on painters, and designers, and whatnot. I just want you to know that you don’t have to go through with this thing if you don’t really want to.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:31 PM]:**  I mean, don’t let Britin and the money spent on it be the only reason to follow through with your idea, okay?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:34 PM]:**  I won’t be mad if you decide to go back on it. I promise.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:38 PM]:**  Brian?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:40 PM]:**  I don’t know what prompted you to suggest monogamy in the first place. And I was thrilled when I read it. I still am. But I realize how big a step this is. Not just for you, but for both of us. And I don’t want you to do it just because you might feel insecure about me being in New York City.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:42 PM]:**  Are you?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:42 PM]:**  Feeling insecure, I mean?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:44 PM]:**  Brian, say something.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:45 PM]:**  Did you choose this method of conversation so you would have future written proof of it having taken place?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:46 PM]:**  You promised not to poke fun of me.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:46 PM]:**  I promised not to call you a lesbian. And I’m not. Besides, I’m not making fun of you. I’m marveling at your stupidity.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:47 PM]:**  HEY!! I take offense to that!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:48 PM]:**  Okay, so here goes… Listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once and afterwards I’m going to deny this stupid discussion has ever taken place at all.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:50 PM]:**  I’m not doing it for you. Or for us, for that matter. I’m thirty-four years old and I’ve never had raw sex in my life. I want to enjoy it while I’m still flexible enough to do so.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:50 PM]:**  35.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:52 PM]:**  Maybe you’re the one who’s being unsure about it?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:52 PM]:**  I’m not!! This is not why I brought it up!  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:52 PM]:**  Relax.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:52 PM]:**  Now I’m gonna be serious, too, and don’t you go all gooey on me.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:53 PM]:**  You’re barely legal, Justin. Are you sure you want to commit to one guy for the rest of your life already?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:53 PM]:**  But you’re not some guy. You’re Brian Fucking Kinney! ;-)  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:54 PM]:**  I thought we were being serious.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:55 PM]:**  We are. I am. And you are NOT some guy. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I always knew I’d be spending my life with you.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:57 PM]:**  But that’s just the point, isn’t it? I’m gonna be there no matter what. If you wanted to wait some more years, enjoy your youth… Believe me, I’d understand.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:57 PM]:**  I do want to enjoy my youth. With YOU! I can’t wait for the next ten weeks to be over.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/10/05, 11:58 PM]:**  I can remember you not being too thrilled about this whole thing when I first suggested it.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:00 AM]:**  Yeah well, you were acting like a possessed Stepford Fag back then. You scared the shit out of me. But now you’re Brian again. And I wanna do this. With you. Now. Not sometime in the far future. If I thought you were doing it for me only, I wouldn’t have said yes.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:01 AM]:**  You do know that I’m a selfish asshole, right? That I never do things unless I want to?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:02 AM]:**  I know you believe that. But I also know that you love me and I know what you’re willing to do or be because of that.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:03 AM]:**  Okay, I admit, I have been known to do some… questionable things in the past.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:03 AM]:**  Like buying fucking country manors.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:04 AM]:**  But only because I know you. Because I know that living there with you won’t be the happy-horror-homo-life I always dreaded.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:05 AM]:**  Life’s full of surprises.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:05 AM]:**  Life’s boring as shit. You’re full of surprises.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:05 AM]:**  I love you.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:06 AM]:**  Ditto.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:06 AM]:**  Twat.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:07 AM]:**  I miss you.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:08 AM]:**  You know you can always come home for a visit when you feel lonely. Even before the three months are over. Just drop a note with Cynthia and she’ll arrange for your flight.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:09 AM]:**  When will you stop forcing her to do the organizing stuff for you? She’s not your secretary anymore. It’s not in her job description.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:10 AM]:**  I won’t be asking her. Because she wouldn’t do it for me. But I have a strong suspicion she’d do anything for you.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:11 AM]:**  That’s sweet. But I think I’ll wait. You do know that I’ll be back from fucking New York eventually? That I’m only going to stay there as long as absolutely necessary?  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:11 AM]:**  That’s why we’re furnishing the house.  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:12 AM]:**  Can we stop talking now?  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:12 AM]:**  Wanna have phone sex?  
 **KinnetikCEO wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:12 AM]:**  Best offer today. Call you in 5.  
 **LetTheSunShine wrote [on 06/11/05, 00:13 AM]:**  I’ll get ready. ;)  
 **KinnetikCEO logged off.**  
 **LetTheSunShine logged off.**  
---  
  
  
  
  
I leaned back in the uncomfortable desk chair and pondered all that I could remember. I could see a slightly younger, almost too thin version of Brian in a tight black t-shirt coming up to me, standing under a lamp post. I remembered looking into his eyes and seeing depths in them I had only read or heard about before. I never thought eyes could say so much. And as I went through every available memory of our life together, I could see the actions and pains that made me forget how to read them. Little hurtful stabs that made me lose the ability to see Brian for the person that he was and instead only see the shell that everyone else seemed to see.  
  
I laughed bitterly as the memory of the zucchini guy of all people emerged. It had hurt so much, seeing Brian fuck him in our home. And I knew now that back then, I chose to be hurt and I chose to hate him. I chose not to see it for the desperate act that it was on his part. Oh, I realized full well what an asshole he was being for doing that to us; and there was no sense in candy-coating it now. But seeing it all again from this almost detached perspective, as if watching a movie, I wondered if maybe there had been a different way to deal with the situation. And while I’m convinced that he knew what he was doing while he was doing it, I also believe that he didn’t anticipate my reaction. Maybe he expected a fight, a queen out, I don’t know. But I walked away. Not only then, but many times. I walked away because I wanted to hurt him too and I knew, deep in my soul I  _knew_  that seeing me walk away would hurt him; hurt him every single time. It was my most powerful weapon, and I used it. I did it because I  _wanted_  him to feel the pain – the same pain that he was causing me. I knew, even though he never said it out loud, that he had feelings for me, and I played with them; played on them; used them to make him hurt. The same way he used my feelings for him every time he ridiculed me for having them or for expressing them. I didn’t realize then how my retreading back only made the walls around his heart thicker; how with my actions, I was hurting both of us.  
  
He was doing the same – hurting not only me, but us. But he couldn’t see it. I could. I told him once that I was the most mature person he knew and I was. I may have been and always will be a dozen years younger than him, but it should have been up to me to call him on his shit. Because I was the emotionally mature person. I knew what we were doing to each other. He didn’t. He acted on impulse because he had never learned to process emotions adequately, but I acted on spite. No one would ever blame me – I was only a hormonal teenager, after all. But Brian and I, we both knew the truth: that I was anything but.  
  
As I continued to sit there, wallowing in bitterness and things past that were long over and done and could never be changed again, I felt… lethargic. Hours passed before I felt the impulse to do anything at all. And, funny enough, when I finally did, it wasn’t to sing and dance in the rain for having back my memories, or drink to forget again – at least for a while, or go out to celebrate or mourn – whatever the more fitting case – or to call Brian. The last alternative especially was not an option anymore. I could not yet explain rationally why not, but I knew I could never go back to how things have been between us. I didn’t want to. Instead, I gave in to the only desire that was left in me: it was the urge to paint. And so I did.  
  
I pulled out one of my last sketchbooks to roughly outline the painting shaping up in my head before it would be gone. Leafing through the pages for a blank sheet, I noticed a yellow post-it attached to the back of one of the pages.  


 

  
_You._

_Me._

_And nothing in between us._

  
  
  
And finally, I remembered sitting on a plane, pulling out my sketchbook, and finding a plane ticket with this note attached to it. My eyes swept the room until they landed on said ticket lying somewhere in the amassed mess of memory triggers. A sadness so great, it threatened to swallow me whole, enveloped my senses and I had to focus on my breathing to not get lost in its vastness. I looked around my apartment and at all the bits and pieces of my former life strewn around and spread out on every flat surface. A life that I prayed so hard to have back. And for what? Who would want all that pain back, and all those memories of mistakes and wrong decisions? Why did no one tell me that maybe, just maybe, I was better off not remembering?  
  
Did Brian know? Did he consider my forgetting a blessing? Was that why he wouldn’t give up information willingly? He must have known the pain of remembering; must have envied the ability to just forget.  
  
Brian was the only man I’ve ever really wanted; wanted in more ways than just the physical. But what we’ve been doing to each other for years – it wasn’t healthy. It was crazy, and self-destructive, and painful. How could anything fulfilling or satisfying ever grow from this? Too many things have been said; and then again not enough. Too much pain caused and feelings neglected; too many issues ignored and swept under the rug. And now I was in New York, trying to work out a way to live without him. And he was in the Pitts, believing the Justin that he knew was gone forever. Maybe it was for the best to let him, because maybe it was true. Eventually, he’d forget what little bits and pieces he still held on to. Time would take care of that. Maybe now that I could remember again, I could start forgetting also.


	20. Chapter 20

The club was packed. When Brian walked over to the bouncers to tell them not to let any more people in, he did it with a grim enjoyment. He eyed the long line in front of Babylon’s remodeled entrance and heard the displeased groan when the people saw the doormen close the roped fence. Brian let his eyes stray down the mostly dark street only illuminated by various neon signs, his eyes searching for something; though he managed to convince himself that he was merely checking out Babylon’s competition. There was no noteworthy activity in front of Popperz and Brian remarked so to one of the bouncers. It wasn’t the first time that night that he went outside to check up on things. He made sure to exchange a couple of words with his employees each time before going inside again. Nobody should think that Brian was actually still clinging to the hope that a certain blond would make an appearance. Despite knowing it was in vain, he still felt the urge to go and check every couple of hours.  
  
He should have known better. He should have known the moment he booked that ticket and wrote that post-it note that it wouldn’t happen. Should have known the universe would find a way to fuck things up. Should have expected it. You’d think he’d learned his lesson by now. But Justin had always managed to make him believe in things he swore he never would again. Justin, with all his pretty hair, and fair, soft skin, and this goddamned sunshiny smile, had always inspired that spark of hope in him. Just like he was doing right now. In his rational mind, Brian knew better than to wait for something that he kept telling himself wouldn’t come. But somewhere very deep inside his being, there still shone that tiny ray of hope that kept telling him that the night was not over yet.  
  
Swearing silently when a sweep along the street turned up nothing again, he went back inside. Intent on making his way to the bar, Brian was greeted by the eternal thumpa-thumpa of the disco beat and walked through the massive wall of bodies and heat. This was his world, his element. The pulse of the never-ending music was the pulse of life itself. Still, Brian felt slightly nauseated by it all. He tried to enjoy it; actively tried to get back in the game. He was sure the person that used to thrive in this atmosphere, the person that used to be him, was still somewhere inside here; around the corner of the next drink, the next song, the next trick. He would find him. And he would be that Brian again; the one who needed no one but himself.  
  
Telling himself for the umpteenth time to stop reacting to every blond who stepped into his line of vision, Brian moved towards one of the guys who were tending the bar tonight. Suspecting his mind wouldn’t cooperate willingly, he was ready to resort to other methods to quash the hope that refused to die. Hope was for people who couldn’t handle the hard facts of life.   
  
He motioned for the bartender to give him a bottle of water and cringed almost instantly. This was not according to plan. For a second, he tried to justify his decision by reminding himself that he was the club owner; he needed to keep a clear head, to stay focused. But these thoughts were off-course too. Fuck responsibility, he thought, and to hell with morals. He ordered a double-shot of Beam, downed it and ordered another. Before he had the chance to gulp it down, Michael and Ben appeared at his side, Michael pulling him towards the dance floor.  
  
“Come on, Brian. Let’s dance. You’ll feel better, you’ll see.”  
  
Brian offered a token of resistance. “Can I have that in writing?”  
  
Michael grimaced at his friend’s reply who didn’t even deny that he was anything but fabulous. He insisted, “Stop brooding. Tell your mind to stop thinking and just move it.” Michael emphasized his point by performing some very graceless and dorky dance moves that brought a wry smile to Brian’s face. “Look at it as a form of exercise.”  
  
Brian was about to remark on some other form of exercise he’d rather be doing right now, but didn’t want to provoke a discussion.  
  
Following his best friend to the dance floor, he allowed himself to relax and followed the beat of the music, moving along with it. If he concentrated really hard, he could almost convince himself that it was just as though nothing had changed at all. Michael was there, and Emmett was doing his praise Jesus thing again, and even Ted was jerking around with them, completing their group. But as Brian continued to dance within their small circle of friends, he realized how much he stopped being part of them. In all honesty, they all had found their paths that slowly but steadily were leading them away from the center of the group. Michael had Ben now and Brian knew that he worried about his husband a lot. And then there were Hunter and now J.R. Even though Brian sometimes missed the times when Michael would look up at him in adoration, he was happy that Michael had found someone who made him happy in a way Brian would never have been able to.  
  
And Emmett – he still fell in and out of love on a daily basis, but Brian knew that a lot of it was habit and the rest was forced cheeriness. Emmett’s fling with Drew Boyd had left him somewhat discouraged, even though nobody seemed to notice. But Brian often found the formerly facetious and extravagant queen staring forlornly into distant space. He still smiled and laughed and joked with the rest of them, but reality had found its way into his pink colored world and took away some of his buoyancy.  
  
And Ted… well, Ted had fallen face first into one of the darkest and deepest abysses of the human soul. If there ever was a time when Ted felt connected to them, his experience had isolated him for good. Sure, he was still part of their core, but more often than not he was there as a silent observer instead of an active participant. And there was a constant presence of a thin layer of profound knowledge in his eyes that negated his sometimes playful jokes and jest remarks.  
  
Life had pulled them apart in spirit and it was a testimony to the former ties of their friendship that they continued to spend time together, even if it was only on a bi-weekly basis at best. As Brian continued to dance on the elevated platform, after Michael and the others climbed back down again, he thought it fitting to stand there alone.  
  
He wished he could embrace his new life, which was very similar to his old one, but something stood in his way. He felt like the door to his old life had been nailed shut when he wasn’t paying attention and he hadn’t yet figured out how to open the new one – something seemed to be missing. Maybe he’d lost the key? Brian had never liked locks on doors.


	21. Chapter 21

Sitting alone in a booth, Brian enjoyed his breakfast at the diner. Though ‘enjoyed’ might have been an overly optimistic word to use. It was a rare occurrence these days to meet Brian in the most popular eating establishment on Liberty Avenue. A sad reality that, when asked, Brian would predictably chalk up to the fact that the drive from West Virginia into the city took up too much of his time already and he couldn’t afford to lose any more if he wanted to get to work in time. And he’d inevitably deny that it had anything to do with the pitying looks that he was greeted with by each and every member of their fucked up family ever since word got around that Justin had left Pittsburgh for good.  
  
The first few days, his phone had been ringing non-stop. People called and asked Brian to dispel the rumors. They didn’t want to believe that Justin would have left all by himself. When word got around that Justin had indeed left and the rumors were true after all, they called to see how Justin was faring on his own. They never came out and said it, but Brian thought he heard accusation in their voices. He didn’t bother to explain himself. Let them believe what they wanted to believe. Eventually, the accusing tone gave way to pity and marked the beginning of the encouraging pep talks which was where things stood at the moment.  
  
Brian kept his eyes on the morning paper on the table in front of him as he heard and felt someone take place on the opposite bench. Brian did not grace his unwanted company with a look.  
  
“Morning, Bri. Surprised to see you here,” Ted greeted his friend and boss.  
  
“I could say the same about you, Theodore. Shouldn’t you be at work?” Brian asked still not glancing up.  
  
“Not for the next fifteen minutes,” Ted replied after a side-glance to the clock on the wall behind the counter.  
  
Brian finally looked up, annoyed and resigned to the fact that his companion was not going to go away. Ted had to brace himself and struggled not to show the shock on his face. In the last almost two months, Brian had buried himself in work, allowing no visitors into his office and only leaving it to give a presentation for potential clients. Ted hadn’t seen him up close in all that time and the change in Brian’s posture and on his face was on the negative side of remarkable. He looked tired, but that was not what shocked Ted most. No, it was the barely visible but nevertheless slouched shoulders; he looked drained and defeated. His eyes shone with an unhealthy glow and there was a hard line to his jaw, like a permanent scowl etched into his features. He seemed lifeless; a walking shell of his former self. Ted tried really hard not to feel pity for the man sitting opposite him because he knew Brian would be able to smell it on him and he really didn’t want to think about the consequences of  _that_ , because he knew all about wounded dogs biting hard. But he couldn’t help himself. He’d never seen a more perfect picture of misery, and he had seen many operas performed on stage.  
  
Ted wished he knew the right words to say; something that wouldn’t sound like a cheap fortune cookie or a worn-out, meaningless pep talk slogan. However, from his own trip into the world of loneliness and gloomy despair, he knew only too well that there really was nothing one could have said. Or done. So he sighed and continued to sit there.  
  
“Well?” Brian prompted after some moments in silence had passed.  
  
“Well what?” Ted asked.  
  
“Aren’t you going to say something? Come on, give me your version of the ‘this is not the end of the world’ speech.” Brian’s voice was full of mockery and dripped with sarcasm but what got to Ted more was the underlying anger. Ted wondered how many of those speeches Brian had had to endure already.  
  
“Sorry. I didn’t know you would be here. Otherwise I would have prepared one. And I’m really not good with improvisation,” Ted said and glanced around for Debbie or another waitress to take his order.  
  
Brian only nodded and was about to return to his paper when Ted cleared his throat and leaned in to say in a slightly hushed tone, “Do you sometimes wonder though? What if this  _is_  the end of the world as you know it?”  
  
“What?” Brian didn’t understand. “God, Theodore, you weren’t kidding when you said you really sucked at this.”  
  
Ted deliberately ignored him. “What if you’ll never be happy again? What if he was your only chance at… I don’t know… redemption? Your chance to be… anything other than miserable. What if he was  _it_? Did he blow it? Did you? And if so, what are you going to do about it? And if it’s no one’s fault, then why was he there under that lamp post in the first place? Is fate just a miserable old bastard who doesn’t know how to amuse himself unless it is at the expense of others? And if there’s no such thing as fate, then how do you know that whatever you lost can’t be saved? If there’s no fate, then isn’t it up to us to create our own destinies? And if it is, in fact, fate, then shouldn’t you  _be_ together? Either way – what are you going to do about it?”  
  
“Is this your petty attempt at reverse psychology?” Brian groused.  
  
“Just thinking out loud. That’s pretty much what ran through my mind after I lost everything. At least I thought I did, at the time.”  
  
Brian stared into Ted’s eyes, waiting for that superior smirk, or maybe an amused chuckle. But he saw neither in the open and honest gaze. “We did try,” Brian finally muttered and surprised himself with his words. “But he wasn’t Justin. He was someone else and I didn’t know him. I didn’t know this other person.”  
  
“You didn’t take the time to get to know this other person,” Ted corrected. “You didn’t wait for him to become Justin again. Nobody did. You were all so focused on him remembering instead of getting to know the person he was. Maybe he would have found his inner Justin again if he was being treated like the real Justin.” Ted paused, gauging Brian’s reaction. But since the brunet didn’t make any move to get up and leave the table and didn’t tell him to shut up either, Ted felt it safe to continue. “We sat around, staring at him like he was a rare bird and we were scientists, waiting for him to take his first flight. But there was no room for him to spread his wings to test the air.”  
  
Brian couldn’t even find it in him to mock Ted for the ridiculous metaphor. He remained still and didn’t say anything which caused Ted to back-pedal.  
  
“But that’s all philosophical, right? Who knows if personality is something inborn or the result of environment?”  
  
Brian ignored Ted’s last statement and replied, “We left. We did go to the house to get him away from the family.” Brian protested.  
  
“You left for what… a week? Two? To a place that was the embodiment of both of your accomplishments as a couple. The house is intimidating without the meaning that you gave it. Now imagine what it must have felt like for Justin knowing or at least suspecting what it represented.”  
  
“So, Freud, what do you suggest?”  
  
“I’m no psychologist, Bri; just a guy who has some experience with seeing no light at the end of the tunnel. Why don’t you go to New York and be with him? Not with Justin, but with this person. No pressure. Just see if maybe you like hanging out with each other.”  
  
Brian didn’t need to try it – he had already come close to experience it; before Justin left. He didn’t suspect, he  _knew_  that there was the probability of him liking the new Justin; even falling for him. The question remained how much of himself he was willing to expose and put on the line. Bizarrely, he felt safe to voice these fears to Theodore. “I did some pretty bad things. What if he remembers those?”  
  
“We all did stupid things while growing up. It’s how you deal with them afterwards that shows whether you learned anything from them.”  
  
Brian looked helpless and Ted reached out to squeeze his hand after only a moment of hesitation.  
  
“Be a man about it, Bri. He’ll appreciate it.”  
  
“It’s fucking scary as hell,” Brian admitted in a whispered voice.  
  
“Life usually is. It’s never been for sissies. Gotta go. I should have been at work ten minutes ago and I hear the boss is a real slave driver.”  
  
Ted gulped the remnants of his cold coffee and stood up, grabbing his jacket.  
  
“You’re gonna be fine, Brian.”  
  
Ted quickly threw some money on the table and was about to turn to leave when Brian’s voice called him back again.  
  
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”  
  
Ted shrugged one-shouldered and a ghost of a sad smile flashed across his face quickly before it disappeared again and made place for a serene expression. “I’m just an accountant. What the hell do I know?”  
  



	22. Chapter 22

Fucking Theodore and his fucking insight! Brian fumed as he walked into the house. He casually threw his briefcase onto the narrow table in the entrance hall. He swiftly passed all rooms, not sparing a look to any one of them on his way to his home office. He collapsed in the cushions of the plush couch that he had delivered there about a month ago. He only stopped once to grab a bottle of scotch that he grabbed from a drink cart in a corner of the room. Fuck work; he wasn’t going in today. He had been powering through in the last couple of months; he earned himself a break. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to be productive after the talk he’d had with Ted anyway. And he needed to think things through, and thoroughly. He hadn’t done that in a long time. In fact, all he ever did lately was keep himself from thinking. Burying himself in work had become one of the means to achieve that. Having a never ending supply of good booze in the house was another. He’d woken up and driven to work with a hangover so many times in the last two months, he didn’t even notice it anymore. Instead, he’d accepted the pain as his constant companion. Everything hurt nowadays: Sales clerks smiling and wishing him a good morning should be executed on the spot; sunny weather should only be allowed on special weekends in July; people inquiring about his health and whether he was eating enough should be hit on the head with a fucking frying pan – repeatedly; couples holding hands on the street needed no to have their pink glasses taken away; and phones should only ring when the person calling was exactly the one you wanted to hear from.  
  
Pain had become a ubiquity in Brian’s life. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. His muscles ached from over-exhaustion. Even the blood in his veins throbbed as it pumped through his body as if too tired to live up to its task. And thinking, thinking hurt most of all, causing a dull sting somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Brian was constantly on edge, ready to lash out at an unsuspecting employee or valet who was only doing his job. Sometimes, he felt the anger coming from so deep inside him, he couldn’t control it anymore. It scared him a little. Brian didn’t like not being in control of his life. He hated feeling helpless and be at the mercy of some higher power, if there even was such a thing.  
  
Could it be that he’d been wallowing in misery so deep, he wasn’t able to see a way out? Was it possible that Theodore was right? Brian felt another surge of annoyance at the thought. Though what he was annoyed about specifically, he wasn’t sure. It may have been the fact that someone else had to point him in the right direction – that never sat well with Brian, no matter how often it occurred. Or it might have been the fact that it had been fucking Theodore Schmidt of all people.  
  
Brian grabbed his laptop from the desk and booted up the computer. Staring down at the monitor, Brian realized he didn’t really know what he was planning on doing. All of his thoughts were running a marathon apparently, and he couldn’t hold on to one of them long enough to examine it from all sides and to consider what he should do next.  
  
His world was a mess. That was not something new, really. It had been a mess ever since he’d gotten the call from Tasha, but Justin leaving the city was something he hadn’t been expecting. But Justin  _had_  left, and despair was joined by guilt. And life still sucked, and every day was longer than the previous one. And Brian was still angry and hated the world in general, and sometimes someone or something in particular. The object of his hate changed almost hourly, depending on the time of the day. Sometimes he blamed fate, sometimes he called fate God, other times he was just angry at himself, but eventually he’d always settled on the stranger who had taken up residence inside Justin’s body and made Justin disappear. That didn’t exactly lessen the guilt he was carrying around and Brian knew that with every day that passed, the weight became more visible to anyone who was looking at him, resulting in those compassionate looks thrown his way, the ones that he’d come to despise, which made him only angrier.  
  
He’d been so blind to everything around him, indulging in the pain that he felt he deserved, he’d never once considered the option that Ted had presented to him. Brian played with some buttons and idly logged on to the Liberty Air site. A moment later he closed it again. He realized he needed some information first. Grabbing his phone instead, he was about to make a call when the doorbell rang.  
  
Wondering who it could be – it was early Monday morning, after all – he got up to open the door. Nobody ever visited him here; not that he was unhappy about it. He pulled it open and came face to face with Debbie who was carrying a tin foil covered casserole that smelled suspiciously like tuna. Brian rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically but didn’t say a word as he stepped aside and let the boisterous woman enter. Sweeping the driveway, he saw Drew Boyd’s dark SUV parked in front of the garage doors. Brian idly wondered what kind of story Deb had to make up for Drew to give her his car. He didn’t care enough to ask. Brian was still clinging to last vestiges of erratic anger, but he’d never been able to keep it up with Debbie. Especially not when she looked at him like that; like his appearance caused her physical pain, like she was hurting with him because it was obvious that he wasn’t feeling remotely okay, like a mother, Brian finally reasoned. He appreciated her looking after him, but after listening to Theodore explain his current situation for him, he wasn’t sure he was up for another frank talking to. Or a lecture. He walked back to his office, trusting that Debbie would follow him. He only made a detour to the kitchen to deposit the casserole dish. It was Debbie’s first visit to the house, but if she hoped to get a tour, she was severely mistaken because Brian was not in the mood to play nice. Reaching his previous place on the sofa, he let his body sag into the cushions, throwing the phone that he realized he was still holding, somewhere into the pillows beside him. He let Debbie find her own place to sit and waited. She was there on a mission and Brian was curious to see what this mission was.  
  
He steeled himself mentally. Short of gagging and cuffing, there was no way of stopping Debbie, but he was nevertheless prepared to throw her out if she’d come to give him a pep talk.  
  
“You got some pot?” She asked by way of a greeting and sat down in a leather swivel chair that she pulled out from behind the desk.  
  
Brian pulled up his brows. Apparently, this was going to be one of those talks – a heart to heart. He sighed. “You know, I might think you only come here so you can smoke some good shit every once in a while.”  
  
“Maybe I am?”  
  
„So, this is not some sort of intervention?” Brian tried his luck.  
  
“Oh, no, it definitely is. You need to get your act together, honey. You’re falling apart.” She looked at him, carefully taking in his appearance from head to toe before she reached over to lay a palm on his cheek, smiling sympathetically. He tried to look away; no need letting her see down to his very core. He wasn’t sure there was still something in there, besides more darkness and pain. But Debbie’s hand on his cheek held his face firmly in place, not allowing him to turn away. She slapped his cheek very lightly and her face brightened suddenly. “But first we need weed,” she proclaimed. “Can’t do this without it. Gotta stick to the rules.” She nodded to emphasize her point and rubbed her palms together.  
  
“There are rules?” Brian asked.  
  
“Of course. What? Did you think I’m winging it? No. No, it’s all written down in the Italian Mom Manual.”  
  
“Have you by any chance inadvertently grabbed the hippie edition? Because I have to enlighten you, they removed the ‘Smoke Pot During Meaningful Conversations’ paragraph decades ago.”  
  
“That’s why my copy is so much better,” Debbie said, smiling from ear to ear. “So, where’s the speech laxative?”  
  
Brian rolled his eyes again but got up and left the room for a minute. He came back carrying a wooden box that he kept hidden in one of the compartments of a coffee table in the living room. Before he sat down again, he reached for a large book from one of the shelves on the wall. He placed the utensils on the floor in front of Debbie’s feet, using the large book as a tray. Pulling out the cigarette papers and the bag of weed from the box, he got to the task of rolling a joint.  
  
“You’re doing it all wrong,” Debbie objected after a second and Brian wasn’t sure if she was referring to his technique or something else entirely. He decided to go with the first option when she pushed his arm away and started preparing the joint herself, sliding to the floor and kneeling before the makeshift table.  
  
Brian watched her do so for a while, marveling at how she managed to roll a perfect joint with her freakishly long plastic fingernails. When she was done, she pushed up from the floor and, grinning wide, sat down beside Brian on the couch. They smoked for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet while passing the joint back and forth, inhaling deeply and letting the weed do its work.  
  
“I hate seeing you like this,” Debbie eventually said, breaking the companionable silence.  
  
Here we go, Brian thought. He steeled himself for what he knew was coming. “Like what?” Brian tried but only earned himself a slap up the head.  
  
“Don’t try that smart-ass shit with me. You should know by now that you can’t fool me.”  
  
Brian nodded slowly. He did know. But self-preservation never took a backseat. Still, he resigned himself to listen.  
  
“You hide yourself inside this…,” she searched for words, “…this mansion of yours. And you cling to all the memories you have. We get it, Brian. But you need to let go,” Debbie said simply, underlining the point by almost wrestling the joint from Brian’s fingers.  
  
He watched her inhale deeply and waited till she released the smoke again before he asked, “Care to elaborate?” Brian played dumb, knowing exactly what she was aiming at, but not wanting to hear it spoken out loud. He realized too late that, by asking her, he manipulated himself into a situation where he’d now have to hear it anyway and cursed the masochistic streak in him.  
  
“You need to let go of all this anger and this cloud of misery that surrounds you.” When no reply was forthcoming, Debbie plowed on, “You need to let go of Justin.”  
  
“I did. He’s in New York.” Brian grabbed the stub from Debbie, keeping his voice neutral and playing for levity.  
  
“Physically maybe. But he’s still on your mind.”  
  
Brian laughed gruffly, inhaling one last time before putting the stub out in the ashtray. “I’m not some love-sick puppy. I’m not pining over him.”  
  
Judging by Debbie’s squinting eyes, she didn’t believe a word, but she knew better than to call him on that. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to be able to sleep at night,” Debbie said in acceptance, seriously doubting that Brian slept at all. “But, Brian,” she continued, growing suddenly serious, “you have to deal with the facts.”  
  
“Which are?” He was stalling. His body language spoke volumes and had it been anyone else, they’d been scared away by his rejection and defensiveness or the cautioning glint in his eyes that told not to push it.  
  
But Debbie either didn’t see or didn’t care because she simply stated, “Justin’s gone.” She looked curiously at Brian, gauging his reaction. Brian didn’t move, he also didn’t contradict. He just kept staring at nothing in particular, eyes unmoving as they fixed some vague point in the empty space. But Debbie knew that he was listening.  
  
“We all loved him, Brian. And we all miss him. I get that you’re miserable. You should be. But eventually you’ll have to find a way to move on. Don’t let it break you. We’re not ready to lose you too.”  
  
“He’s not dead,” Brian finally protested, not liking the way Deb spoke about Justin like… like he was gone, Brian conceded.  
  
“Isn’t he?” Deb asked with some sort of challenge in her voice. “Depends on how you define dead, I’d say.”  
  
“I can’t just ignore the fact that he’s out there somewhere; walking around, talking, smiling. He’s… he’s out there.”  
  
“But it’s not really him,” Debbie carefully ventured, unconsciously playing with her many rings to keep her hands occupied.  
  
This morning, Brian would have agreed. Now, after listening to Ted’s monologue, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Deb must have seen the renewed sliver of hope in his eyes or something, because she said, “You think he’s still Justin somewhere deep inside there?” When she only received a shrug in response, she continued, “What if this thing, this amnesia, didn’t just overlay Sunshine, but wiped him out? Permanently.”  
  
Brian squeezed his eyes shut as though the action would be able to block this idea from entering his mind. He’d spent a lot of time, and booze, in the past weeks to avoid thinking exactly this. “Not fucking possible,” he replied with a confidence that surprised himself. “Do you even remember Justin? He’s a persistent little fucker. He’s strong-willed, and tenacious, and he always sticks around, no matter how shitty things become. He’s not scared away that easily.”  
  
As he spoke those words, Brian realized he believed them. Opening himself up to further disappointment and the probability of being hurt beyond what he imagined possible, he felt something akin to light surge through him again and it felt like he was coming back to live; like he was breaking surface and taking a lungful of fresh air after having stayed underwater for too long.  
  
Deb saw the spark of energy pulse through Brian again and smiled curiously. Brian didn’t know how to interpret the expression on her face and motioned towards the plastic bag that held the weed instead, asking without words whether she’d like another smoke. Deb, however, declined and stood up. “Gotta go. Carl promised to come home on his lunch break and he’s probably wondering where his food is. Or his woman,” she chuckled. “Didn’t think it was going to take this long to get here.”  
  
Brian nodded his consent and didn’t bother getting up. He trusted Deb would find the door and Brian had a lot of thinking to do. He suddenly glanced up at her from his spot on the sofa, watching her move as she cleared up the mess they’d made together and gathered her things. A thought struck him. “Am I really that gullible?” he asked her, groaning inwardly at the realization.  
  
She replied with a quiet smile. “No, honey, I’m just that good.” She pressed a kiss against his temple, softly stroking his hair and turned towards the exit.  
  
“Eat the casserole,” she said with a last glance back.  
  
“I don’t like tuna casserole,” Brian called from the sofa.  
  
“Sure you do,” Deb objected.  
  
“It’s full of carbs and fat,” Brian tried again.  
  
“Exactly what you need then. You’ve lost so much weight, you’re practically only skin and bones,” she said before walking away.  
  
After she left, Brian remained seated and contemplated his next move. He adjusted his weight and moved to make himself more comfortable on the sofa, only to find something hard poking him in the ribs. Reaching under him, he pulled out the phone that he’d discarded earlier and remembered what he was about to do before he was interrupted by Debbie.  
  
He hated to admit it, but he had no idea where to find Justin. He’d never been to his apartment in New York and he needed an address. He scrolled through the list of saved numbers until he found the one he was looking for and hit the call button. Luckily, Jennifer picked up on the second ring.  
  
“Brian,” she greeted him and her voice carried a distinct note of… relief? Brian wasn’t one hundred percent sure but it sounded a lot alike. “I wish I could say I’m surprised but I was already expecting your call. Actually, you’re kind of late.” She inserted a laugh at the end of the sentence.  
  
“You were? I am?” Brian asked, feeling a little dumbstruck at the revelation.  
  
“Sure,” she confirmed. “It’s about Justin, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes,” Brian replied hesitantly. Despite the very obvious fact that there was no reason for him to call her because of anything or anyone else, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.  
  
“So he finally called you. Took him long enough. I’m glad he did, though.”  
  
“You are?” Brian asked, fishing for information, trying hard not to be too obvious about it while his mind raced to catch up with the show. He didn’t like not being in the loop.  
  
“Of course!” She enthused. “I don’t hold a grudge against you. I gave up on that years ago. I thought you knew that.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” he grunted non-committally.  
  
“You don’t believe me?” She had the nerve to actually laugh at her own remark.  
  
Brian tried to come up with ways to steer her in the right direction topic-wise but he didn’t have to. She continued on her own.  
  
“Never mind. I keep telling him he should just come back home. But he’s got that stubborn idea in his head that you wouldn’t want… Oh well, I’m not going there. That’s for you two to figure out. I’m just glad he thought better of it. He is coming home, isn’t he?”  
  
“Actually,” Brian began but was cut off.  
  
“I know he’s not dealing very well with the whole remembering things again issue. Between the two of us, Brian, he’s a bit of a diva when it comes to the big issues. How did Debbie call it? Drama queen tendencies, I believe, yes.”  
  
“No shit,” Brian muttered under his breath. He was so shell-shocked, he couldn’t form any other words.  
  
Jennifer laughed again. “I had to promise him not to tell you anything. Promised to give him time. I have no idea what it must feel like for him to deal with all those memories at once but I’m glad he decided to come home.”  
  
“He didn’t,” Brian finally managed to grit out. He couldn’t believe that Jennifer had kept him in the dark about something so important – promises be damned. That fucking little shit. Brian was going to wring his neck.  
  
“He didn’t?” Jennifer wondered. “Are you flying out there then?”  
  
“That was the idea,” Brian kept things purposefully vague, needing time to mull things over first. “A surprise kind of thing,” he added to prevent Jennifer from spilling the beans to her son.  
  
“I’m not sure he’s very much into surprises nowadays, but I trust you, Brian,” Jennifer answered.  
  
After they ended their call, Brian leaned back against the sofa cushions again, closing his eyes. He needed to think, and change his plans accordingly; which wasn’t really a problem seeing as he had not yet come up with anything that could be considered a plan. So Justin remembered. Brian needed a minute to process this fact. Why wasn’t he back then? What was he still doing in New York? Brian’s first instinct was to be angry at having received not even a phone call, but he was still somewhat elated by Ted’s talk, positively manipulated by Deb’s visit, and pleasantly buzzed by really good weed to give way to frustration again. So he changed gears quickly and went from anger to curiosity. He was prepared to grant Justin some leeway – neither of them had experience in dealing with extensive amnesia. But if the fraction of recovered memory from the bashing was anything to go by, Brian figured, being flooded with your whole life must be infinitely more overwhelming. He’d wait. He would give Justin space and time and wait for the blond to come to him.  
  



	23. Chapter 23

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Brian pressed out between angry lips, barely contained rage and anger simmering just under his form-fitting Gucci dress shirt and matching pinstriped Armani suit. And Justin almost laughed because he thought in memories now. Every familiar piece triggered a movie and he could see himself loosening that very tie in a former life and threatening Brian to use it as a rope to tie him to the bed because Brian wouldn’t stop fidgeting as Justin tried to rim him. But now was not the time for laughs and a look in Brian’s eyes, more green today due to all the suppressed emotions, reminded him of how serious the situation was.  
  
“Enough?” He repeated after Brian, sounding confused and not understanding the question.  
  
“For you to come back. I’m not enough for you to come back to?”  
  
The bitterness in Brian’s voice sliced through Justin’s heart and he listened for a moment or two, curious whether it would still go on beating. He was almost surprised when he found out that it did. He spared a moment to contemplate how Brian might have found out about him remembering again. Or how he found him in this café. He knew if he’d ask, Brian wouldn’t grace him with an answer. So he didn’t. Now was not the time for diversion tactics either, but Justin really needed a few minutes to himself and a moment to sort out his thoughts; to decide what he needed to say to Brian.  
  
“I need a coffee,” he said and turned without giving Brian a chance to protest. From the corner of his eye, he saw Brian open his mouth to object, but Justin acted as though he didn’t notice and got in line, keeping his eyes notoriously on the back of the head of the redheaded woman in front of him.  
  
Brian was left alone and stood around for a moment, blinking, perfectly confused and not knowing how to react to Justin’s avoidance tactics. He pulled a grimace and went to find a table for them to sit. He was silently fuming on the inside, knowing that Justin was just buying time and Brian was angry because hadn’t he already given him enough of that?  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
His phone conversation with Jennifer had a strangely invigorating effect on him. Weeks passed in which Brian went to work, visited the diner, even appeared at one or two of Deb’s Sunday night dinners. There was an air of lightness to him that many had noticed but few remarked upon. Deb looked surprised to see him and Brian knew that she had expected him to immediately leave for New York after their talk. Maybe she figured that something must have happened after her visit; maybe she didn’t. But she didn’t say a word, limiting her input to some compassionate looks. Brian knew that Ted wanted to say something also but didn’t. Brian suspected he didn’t dare to because Theodore probably interpreted Brian’s staying in Pittsburgh as him not taking Ted’s advice, so he refrained from offering another. Brian felt a little guilty for not telling them that Justin remembered again. He knew that they were suffering from losing Justin as well and knowing that he was back, even though not yet in his physical presence, would certainly help soothe the pain. But Brian also knew that revealing the news would give way to an avalanche of questions and more well-meant advice. They would push and prod and ruin everything. Brian was determined to wait till Justin came back on his own. Time would pass faster if he didn’t have to deal with the family slowly wearing down his intent.  
  
Only, after a time, the initial lightness started to make room for gloominess once again and the first doubts had sprouted roots in his head, no matter how much he tried to keep them at bay. Justin’s continued absence brought him quickly down and scared him out of his mind the longer Justin stayed gone.  
  
He didn’t want to get used to the idea that Justin was gone for good again. He could still remember too well the excruciatingly painful process of getting used to being alone after ‘Justin’ – and, God, for that period of amnesia, he’d really started to think his name in quotation marks – had gone to New York. Though it hadn’t been exactly about getting used to it than simply mastering the skill of pretending; to put up a show for the family, the clients, and the rest of the outside world. Years of practice and the general perception of him being an emotionally retarded bastard helped to convince most of them; though not Debbie, as it had turned out, or Ted, for whatever fucked up reason. Both of them remained quiet, but Brian could see that especially on Debbie’s face the concern grew with every day that passed. He didn’t want to give her an opportunity for another talk, so Brian tried to avoid her as best as he could. He’d had his hands full already dealing with things that concerned Justin’s and his lives.  
  
Things were different now; different than Brian expected them to be. It wasn’t like before when Justin had left him to be with Ethan. And it wasn’t like when Justin had left for Los Angeles or New York, the first time around. All those times Justin had still been there somewhere. Not in his immediate range, admittedly, but in the world. And despite the pain and the loneliness, Brian had been able to live with the knowledge that the world still held the person that was Justin.  
  
The thought that the real Justin was back should have been comforting, but it was quite the opposite. The longer Justin remained sealed off from everyone in Pittsburgh, the more Brian had difficulties keeping his doubts at bay. The more time passed, the more jealous Brian became. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help wonder if Justin had found someone new and whether this was the reason he didn’t want him anymore. Knowing, he was back was unsettling Brian and was making it more difficult to go through with the show he was putting up for everyone. When he noticed his employees fleeing the corridors with a terrified expression clearly visible on their faces whenever he set foot outside his office, Brian knew it was time to act.  
  
He called Jennifer.  
  
“Jennifer, when exactly did he remember?” Brian had called her just to ask this one question and was waiting nervously for an answer.  
  
“Hmm, let me think. Sometime mid-August, if I’m not mistaken. Why?”  
  
Brian knew what date it was; knew exactly how many days it had been since Justin had left for New York. His eyes drifted to the calendar on his desk anyway. It was three weeks before Thanksgiving. Justin had been gone almost three months. And he hadn’t called him, or emailed him, or even wanted him to know that he remembered. Brian had moved back to the loft because he had foolishly assumed that Justin would come back and he knew the loft was the place he would first go to. It seemed like he had been wrong about that.  
  
Brian didn’t answer Jennifer’s question and instead asked for Justin’s address. When she gave it to him, he hung up on her without even uttering a goodbye or a thank you. He didn’t drive home to pack a bag or change into more comfortable clothes. Instead, he let the feeling of anger wash over him. After weeks of feeling anguish, doubt, and fear, anger was a very welcomed emotion and one Brian had experience with. He needed some answers and he would make sure Justin would provide him with some. As he got on the plane to New York, he would have liked to indulge in the idea that what he was doing was the result of a renewed bout of hope. But it was actually quite the opposite. It was simple math. Whatever he could gain from the visit would be more than what he had now. From where he stood, he had nothing to lose.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin appeared at the table just as Brian emerged from his thoughts. The blond sat down and clamped his hands around the cup of his grande mocha frap with an extra of this and an added of that which he hated but ordered anyway because it took ages to prepare and he had needed the time to think about how he was going to answer Brian’s questions.  
  
“When I remembered,” he finally quietly said, choosing a starting point, “I remembered  _all_  of it. We conveniently choose not to think about all the times I hurt you. But when I remembered, it was all there. At once.” He gulped before continuing, “It’s a little bit overwhelming being assaulted with every one of your own mistakes. I remembered Ethan, the frat boy whatever  _his_  name was, Cody…”  
  
Justin didn’t dare look up because he didn’t know how much Brian knew about Cody; they’d never talked about it, but he suspected that Brian knew nevertheless. Things had a way to reach Brian’s ears, whether he wanted them to or not. But Justin didn’t want to see the expression on Brian’s face when he remembered the incident, so he stared into his cup, rotating it between his fingers. “You say okay to never kiss someone other than me without thinking about it. Spontaneously, one night in a dance club. You give a promise in response to an ultimatum and you never break it. But I did. Numerous times. I can never live up to something like this. You gave me yourself and what have I ever given you?” The last part came out in pitiful whisper and the following silence made him feel uncomfortably self-conscious.  
  
He looked up to meet Brian’s curious stare and even though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t. Brian stared him down with a dangerous gleam in his eyes that made him squirm in his seat.  
  
“A life, you stupid little fuck,” Brian eventually evenly replied, accentuating every word. “Now go pack your shit. You’re going home.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Justin’s eyes were wide when he met Brian’s steady gaze. And for a moment, he thought he saw an amused grin in Brian’s features; amusement at his outrage. He didn’t realize yet that for the first time in months, Brian just caught a glimpse of the Justin he knew and loved and thought he’d lost forever. Justin didn’t know yet that his very readiness to fight with Brian about what he believed was the right thing to do was what made Brian relax and breathe with renewed hope again.  
  
But Brian was all business now. “You’re coming home with me. Come on. We’re going to pack up whatever you will need in the first few days. The rest can be packed and shipped by movers. We’ll deal with the landlord and whomever else over the phone. Get up. Move.”  
  
Brian rose, pulling Justin up by his arm.  
  
Justin yanked his arm free and tore into his ex-lover, “What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t come with you!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Brian, haven’t you been listening?”  
  
“I have and I decided it’s all a crock of shit. This is your petty excuse? Had I known that this is why you haven’t been calling or coming back, I’d have been here sooner.” Brian explained and the rational and calm tone of his voice somehow made Justin even angrier.  
  
“Crock of shit?” Justin asked disbelievingly.  
  
“What else do you call this guilt trip? And over what exactly? Because you kissed some guys in the past? Because you broke some stupid rules? That was ages ago, Sunshine. Newsflash, it’s all over and done with. We moved on. Or did you fail to remember  _that_?”  
  
“I did remember. That’s the whole problem!” Justin’s voice almost broke from held back emotions, outraged at how easily Brian dismissed his take on things.  
  
“So you say you remember,” Brian stated, changing his previously forceful tone.  
  
“Yes,” Justin replied confused, not knowing where Brian was going with his new tactic.  
  
“Then you do remember that we moved beyond that?”  
  
“Did we?”  
  
Brian deflated briefly and looked at Justin, really looked at him, seemingly crawling into his very being. Justin wasn’t sure what Brian saw in his eyes, but his posture returned back to the confident, alpha-male self. It was like he knew something about Justin’s doubts that Justin didn’t yet. Brian continued to stare at Justin through those half-squinting eyes, and with every second that passed the expression on his face seemed to relax more and make room for an intense glare that pierced right through Justin.  
  
“I get it,” Brian spoke finally, slowly and in that not-really-there-voice.  
  
“Get what?” Justin’s confusion was complete now.  
  
“That it all feels fresh to you – all the things that happened years ago. And it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have some healthy portion of doubt when it comes to me or our…” Brian stumbled momentarily, still not used to calling things by their names, “…our relationship. We’ve been through this already. But to you it all feels new and recent. Okay. But you have to put it all into a timeframe perspective. You’re not seeing things clearly right now.”  
  
“I think I do,” Justin’s defiance flared up.  
  
“Yeah well, you’re wrong there,” Brian dismissed his objection again with a wave of his hand and muttered under his breath, “What else is new?” He straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and, fixing Justin with an unrelenting stare, declared in an almost business-like no-bullshit tone, “So here’s the updated version, and do listen closely because I’m not going to broadcast it again in the foreseeable future: We were happy. That’s all you need to know.  _We were good together_.”  
  
Justin’s mouth opened but no words spilled from it and he stared squarely at Brian, the last part of Brian’s enunciated speech replaying over and over again in his ears. He wanted to believe that it could be this easy; wanted to believe that when all was said and done this really was what it came down to. The relief that threatened to wash over him at this thought was immense, but Justin didn’t dare yet opening the door to this flood, his mind futilely searching for flaws in Brian’s logic.  
  
While Justin still stared motionless at Brian, the taller man moved into action and pulled Justin towards the exit of the café. Justin thought he should have been putting up more of a fight, but he really didn’t want to. What he wanted, what he really, truly desired, was to follow Brian’s lead. At least for now. Let him make the decisions, let him guide the way, and plan their future together because God, in the last three and a half months, nothing has sounded better. Allowing to be swept away in every sense of the word, he relented and it felt like such a release to be able to let go and hand over the reins to someone else. No, not someone else – but Brian. Always Brian. It was different with him. Because Brian knew what needed to be done and that was exactly what he did: He booked a flight to Pittsburgh on the next available connection from his cell phone while they were walking to Justin’s sorry excuse for an apartment; helped Justin stuff his things in a threadbare travel bag and packed the rest in cartons as he arranged for someone to come pick them up to be sent to Pittsburgh in a couple of days.  
  
They didn’t speak a word during the cab drive to the airport and remained quiet while sitting in the waiting area at the gate, waiting for their flight to be called; but Justin’s head rested on Brian’s shoulder and he’d be damned if it wasn’t the most content he ever remembered feeling when Brian’s arm wrapped around his waist and the brunet’s thumb came to rest inside Justin’s side pocket.  
  
“I hurt you,” Justin stated once they were up in the air.  
  
“And I hurt you.” Brian shrugged. “That’s what happens when you love someone too much.”  
  
“How can you be so okay with it?” Justin asked because he really wanted to know. Maybe there was a mantra Brian learned to use, some Zen Bullshit from Ben, and if that was the case, then Justin wanted to know how to do it, too. He really wanted to be okay with everything that happened between them. He just didn’t know how to be. “Don’t you care that I broke your trust when I broke my own rules?”  
  
“What do you want me to say?” Brian raised his voice against his will. “That I don’t care that it happened? That would be a lie. That it hurt? I think we’ve already established that. But I refuse to hang onto past mistakes and let them cloud over our future. And you should do the same. Unless you don’t want to because you don’t want me?” The last part was almost muttered in an insecure and quavering voice and it was so unlike Brian that it was almost funny to Justin because they were on a fucking plane and it wasn’t like they could turn around and go back if he said ‘No’ to them right now. But Brian had to know that ‘No’ never has been an option when it came to the two of them.  
  
“No! God, no!” Justin objected vehemently, dismissing Brian’s fears. “Never. I  _do_  want you. So bad.” Justin’s eyes welled up with overwhelming and too long suppressed emotions as he looked in Brian’s face. “But it’s going to happen again, isn’t it?”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“Us. Hurting each other.”  
  
Brian shrugged it away. “Most likely. I mean, you’re annoying and always need to have the last word and I can be a bit stubborn at times,” Brian half-joked and turned serious again. “But what I can promise you is this: That I won’t be going out of my way and plan things just to keep you at arm’s length. But we’re still you and me, so yeah, we’re probably gonna fuck up. And when that happens, we’ll deal with it. Don’t make me better than I am just because I managed to follow through on one thing. I did some nasty things too as I’m sure you remember. That shouldn’t be a reason though to run away and not try to fix it.” It was weird how he made that last sentence sound imploring and Justin wondered whether they would ever be able to let go of their mutual guilt. He knew Brian blamed himself for his fuckups, and Justin was doing the same. But they couldn’t go on like that. They couldn’t touch ground in Pittsburgh where they were going to start a new life together with the past still hanging over them and Justin resolved to let it go when Brian could do the same.  
  
“Brian?” Justin asked because he needed to say this and he wanted to make sure that he had Brian’s undivided attention. “You were enough.” He picked up where they had left in the café. “I just never thought that I could be. You were the one that was supposed to be the emotionally stunted asshole, the one who was supposed to fuck it up, the one whom everybody blamed. And you played your part, I know that. Sometimes you made me feel like I was not enough. And I knew you were doing it on purpose, but it didn’t keep me from sometimes hating you for it. But… I guess what I want to say is that I know I played my part too.”  
  
He grabbed Brian’s hand, hoping the contact would help make the words come out easier. Swallowing around the massive clot in his throat, Justin continued.  
  
“When things between us started to get more… serious… when we became… ‘Brian and Justin’, I know you were scared. You tried to deal with it the best you knew how. And every time it became too much, you freaked and rebelled against it. And I should have been able to realize it for what it was because even your freak-outs were predictable.”  
  
Brian cringed and Justin knew it wasn’t the topic that was making him uncomfortable but the idea that he could ever be predictable. It was weird how Brian’s occasional shallowness was so familiar and soothing, it made him feel at home right here on this plane.  
  
“But I got sidetracked somehow and lost the map to the labyrinth that was Brian Kinney. You were a shit doing the things to me that you did. And I was a shit too for trying to get back at you in the same way. I know now that you didn’t do it to hurt me but to protect yourself. And I resent you a little because you thought you needed to protect yourself from me. I know now that you gave me everything you were able to give without compromising yourself. And I get that now – this need to protect who you are, to not bend to someone else’s wishes; I  _really_  get that now. I told you once that I thought we were moving in different directions. But I realize now we weren’t. We were just going at a different pace. I feel like I should apologize for not seeing it then; for pushing too hard.”  
  
“You don’t. You never have to apologize for that,” Brian finally said after listening to Justin intently.  
  
Justin nodded. He thought he understood. Yes, Brian would always want him to do what Justin thought he needed to be happy, even if it turned out to be at Brian’s expense. There was one last thing that Justin needed to clear up so Brian wouldn’t get the wrong picture. “Whatever happened in the past, I’m not mad at you; I want you to know that. And I’ll stop being mad at myself if you promise me to do the same.”  
  
Brian pulled the younger man closer and tucked the blond head under his chin. Justin understood it for the agreement that it was and smiled as he realized he could read Brian again. And by some unvoiced pact they knew that this was going to be the last time they talked about the mistakes that they’d made in the past. Not because it hurt to do so or because they were in denial, but because everything that needed to be said was said and, what was more important, this time it was heard.  
  



	24. Chapter 24

It was only a little after seven when they exited the cab in front of the former factory building, but Justin was tired, the emotional rollercoaster of the day taking its toll. They didn’t need to talk as they waited for the elevator to arrive because taking the stairs was completely out of the question right then. Justin leaned heavily against Brian as they ascended to the top floor, the brunet’s arm around his middle feeling heavenly and just… right. It was weird, Justin thought, that only a few hours ago, he’d felt like he would never smile or be happy again and that the presence of one person could change things so drastically. He thought it should be bothering him that he needed someone else to feel content. He thought that it should feel wrong that he couldn’t feel this equilibrium in himself. He wondered if he was missing some crucial part of himself because he wasn’t able to feel complete without Brian by his side. But then he figured that Brian  _was_  a part of him and it became frighteningly clear to him that this was the only truth he was absolutely certain of.  
  
They disentangled from each other so Brian could slide the heavy metal door open and he stepped aside to let Justin enter. The blond passed the threshold, dumping his backpack in his wake, and made it to the sofa immediately where he plumped down, letting his head loll back onto the backrest and closed his eyes. Keeping them closed, he toed off his shoes, letting them fall there, even though he knew Brian would throw a fit if he didn’t put them away soon. Instead, he preferred to curl up on the couch, mumbling a barely discernable, “Tired.”  
  
Brian stood in the doorway watching as Justin took possession of his home again and a smile spread on his face which ached a little and reminded him that he hadn’t done that in too long. He smiled because this was  _his_  Justin. This was not the copy that had lived here three and a half months ago, that walked on eggshells, never feeling comfortable or at home in these surroundings. No, this was definitely his Justin, the old Justin – in all his messy and chaotic glory.  
  
“Pick up your fucking shoes and put them away. I don’t want them anywhere near my new rug. And then unpack your shit and put it away in your drawers.  _Then_  you can pass out.”  
  
Justin grumbled something unintelligible into the sofa cushions and wiggled his ass and Brian was not sure whether it was supposed to be a protest or a distraction. The latter worked though and he let Justin’s travelling bag slide down his shoulder where it landed in the entryway beside the previously unceremoniously discarded backpack, and walked over to the semi-unconscious blond.  
  
Brian used his knee to nudge Justin’s hip but received only another grumble in response.  
  
“What?” Brian asked.  
  
“’Mmrow.”  
  
“Come again?”  
  
Finally, the ball of limbs and blond hair moved and glared at Brian. “I said,” he enunciated every word clearly as though speaking to a retard, “I’ll do it tomorrow.”  
  
“Why can’t you do it now?” Brian asked, feigning anger.  
  
“I’m saving my energy so you can fuck me,” Justin explained and grinned.  
  
Brian pursed his lips but couldn’t help grinning back like a fool himself. He bent down and pulled Justin up, hauling him over his shoulder and carrying him towards the bedroom. Justin yelped in surprise at being manhandled and began to squeal and wriggle, almost making Brian lose the grip around his waist. He swatted Justin’s ass hard, successfully shutting up his squirming cargo. In the bedroom, he unceremoniously dropped Justin onto the large bed and started losing his clothes, keeping a watchful eye on his prey all the time.  
  
Justin licked his lips as he watched, mesmerized by every patch of skin that was revealed to his hungry eyes. He drank his partner in with the greed of a man who had crossed the desert for a drop of water. Only when Brian raised an eyebrow quizzically at him, did he realize that Brian expected him to get naked too. He moved into action, almost tearing the clothes from his body, not caring whether he ripped them. His breathing quickened in proportion to every garment that he lost until Brian was with him on the bed, touching him, letting his open palm glide over chest and stomach, and he forgot how to breathe completely.  
  
Justin wriggled in an effort to get closer to Brian, to pull him on top of himself because he craved to feel his body again, needed this anchoring weight to settle him into place. And when Brian pushed him backwards, falling on top of the smaller body, Justin sighed in relief, sobbed almost. He’d reached home.  
  
All wet kisses, gentle caresses, and softly spoken words were felt through a thick misty haze and Justin didn’t know whether he responded at all. He hoped he did because he wanted Brian to feel how much he’d missed him, how much he wanted him.  
  
Justin felt a knee between his legs and opened up. He was driving completely on instinct now. He arched into the touch when Brian’s hand stroked up his inner thigh, not halting until it reached its destination and a finger found its way into the blond’s body. The action so sure and decisive – it was led by experience and history and deep rooted knowledge of the other man’s body. And Justin’s response was predictable and still always new to Brian. The moan that got caught in his throat and didn’t quite make it past his lips was so familiar and excitingly original; Brian craved more of it and added another finger.  
  
They continued to stroke each other with hands and eyes until Brian felt like he might come just from feeling Justin clench around his digits but he didn’t want that. He pulled out, slowly and carefully, continuing to massage the stretched opening with his thumb as he suddenly froze.  
  
Justin stiffened as he felt the man above him go rigid and opened his eyes. Brian was staring intently at him, and Justin wondered what happened that made him stop. He knew it had been a while since their last time together, but Brian could not possibly think that he didn’t want this, could he? Justin took matters into his own hands as he reached for a condom and ripped it open. Holding on to the reservoir with one hand, he unrolled the latex disc over Brian’s hardness, squeezing him once when he was done. That set Brian into action again as he first released a deep guttural growl and then plunged into Justin without warning, making the blond buck and arch off the bed violently. He tried to hold onto Brian and wrapped his legs around the taller man’s hips, forcing Brian’s erection deeper inside himself. The depth of the penetration made him gasp and he silently begged Brian to wait until he felt himself adjust. When Brian fit inside him perfectly, he pushed up a little and signaled for Brian to move.  
  
The strokes were slow and deep and each one pushed the air out of Justin’s lungs. Brian grabbed his legs and pushed them up a little more, so they were now wrapped around his back. The slightly different angle was just right to make Brian graze Justin’s prostate on every in-stroke. When Justin felt himself slipping into Nirvana, Brian reached down between their bodies and lay a palm over the blond’s balls, just resting it there, letting the warmth seep into the other man’s body. Justin felt his cock expand even more and the want was so immediate, he was seconds from ordering Brian to make him come. Brian knew this and started to massage the smooth skin behind Justin’s balls with his thumb, stimulating the prostate from outside in time with his thrusts until Justin’s world shattered into millions of pieces, all revolving around Brian’s aura, forever tied to him.  
  
It took Brian two more thrusts into the contracting hole until he was there too, soaring with Justin in those inexplicable realms.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
When Justin’s breath evened out and his head felt heavy on Brian’s shoulder, Brian knew he’d fallen asleep. Brian couldn’t. If he were honest to himself, he would have admitted that he didn’t dare to. He closed his eyes, hoping his exhaustion would surrender to sleep. But his mind just wouldn’t rest. He didn’t want to wake up only to find that the last hours had only been a dream. He’d rather stay awake and search for clues that would give him a hint whether this was real or not. Reaching over Justin’s head for a cigarette, Brian lit a smoke and contemplated all the events that led up to today.  
  
If he were a dyke, he’d be wishing for it to have happened sooner. He wished that Justin would have come to him as soon as he remembered and though he understood why the blond stayed away, he couldn’t help feeling a little resentful because of the time that they had lost. They could have spared themselves months of loneliness and pain if only he had gone to New York sooner. But there was no use in crying over spilled milk, so Brian tried to navigate his thoughts in another direction.  
  
Remembering the events from the past hours, Brian couldn’t suppress the doubts that only dared resurface when it was dark. There were still too many things they hadn’t talked about; things they needed to discuss.  
  
Justin began to toss beside him and Brian pulled him closer to his body, his mind going in circles, anticipating what the next day would bring. Anger and the need for answers and for closure had brought him to New York after several weeks of stewing. He hadn’t expected to return to Pittsburgh with Justin by his side. The real Justin. Brian chuckled. He still couldn’t stop thinking in those categories: ‘Justin’ and the real Justin.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin woke up with his nose burrowed into Brian‘s crook of arm, which the brunet had slung possessively around him. It was weird how crazily different it was waking up next to a naked Brian and how at the same time nothing had changed at all. The sounds Brian made in his sleep were so inherently familiar, as was the feel of his body and the smell of his skin. Two impressions dueled for dominance inside Justin’s head and he wondered if it would always be like that from now on. He wasn’t sure if his ambivalence was due to his absence or due to his amnesia but his mind constantly struggled to mold one whole picture out of two incomplete ones. There was the newness of discovering all the small things that he rationally realized he must have known before, but which only revealed themselves to him after a direct stimulation of the senses. And there was also the subconscious feeling of familiarity, of knowing instinctually that he belonged here.  
  
Justin extracted his arm from under Brian’s neck and let two fingers trace slowly the line of the brunet’s back. The simple contact triggered another double-effect in his sensory memory. He knew, before he touched Brian’s skin, how it would feel. And when his fingers made contact, for a tiny second, his mind reveled at the unexpected yet known reaction. It was as though the thrill of touching Brian was repeated by a delayed second reaction and his body thrummed with the dual sensations.  
  
He decided to let Brian rest and got up to make breakfast. Less than half an hour later, a somewhat distraught Brian joined him. He sat down at the kitchen counter, watching Justin wordlessly. Justin found the quietness strange but not uncomfortable and continued to prepare breakfast.  
  
“I’m making eggs and bacon,” Justin said, breaking the silence and going for small talk.  
  
“Toast and coffee are perfectly fine for me,” Brian tried to stop him, but knew that his attempt was in vain. Predictably, Justin ignored his objection and continued making an opulent breakfast; or as opulent as possible with an almost empty fridge.  
  
“You’re not going in today?” Justin asked when Brian continued to sit there, content just watching him work in his kitchen again. It was Saturday but Justin knew that before major holidays, Kinnetik was open for business on Saturdays as well.  
  
“They know how to reach me should the need arise. Ted and Cynthia will manage just fine. They have experience and know how to keep the wheels running smoothly.”  
  
They exchanged more of the same casual trivialities, carefully avoiding any subject of big importance.  
  
While Justin had his back to him, Brian’s eyes repeatedly strayed over to the metal door and he wondered what would happen once they stepped outside. Since they came back last night and entered the loft again, they’ve been ensconced in this little world of theirs, safe inside those four walls, where neither the outside nor the reality had any place. What they had managed to salvage from the ruins of their latest breakup still felt too delicate and fragile to be exposed to the outside. Brian wasn’t sure they were ready yet to survive the real world. But sooner or later, Brian knew, they would have to deal with all of it – the family, their friends, the bullshit that was everyday life. They needed to build up defenses, to make the ties between them stronger so nothing and no one would be able to insinuate itself between them. Brian honestly didn’t know if they were ready for that.   
  
“I don’t know how to do this,” Brian said, mumbled actually, and Justin froze.  
  
Brian saw the muscles of Justin’s back go rigid and cursed under his breath. He felt like that one time when he put on skates for the first time and stepped out onto the ice. And just like then, he managed to fall flat on his face when it came out all wrong.  
  
“This?” Justin asked, picking up Brian’s statement, clearly not understanding where it was coming from, but certain he had an inkling. “Nothing has to change, Brian.” Because if he had learned anything at all in the past five plus years, it was that Brian Kinney was most afraid of change; and that Justin needed to give him time to adjust to new circumstances. Justin didn’t want Brian to think that, now that he was back in Pittsburgh and they were back together again – at least he hoped they’d still be after this conversation was over, – that they would suddenly become some dickless, mushy lesbians. He needed Brian to know that he was in this without expecting everything to change overnight. He also needed Brian to know that being together was enough for now. “I don’t have a master plan,” Justin tried to make Brian see that he didn’t come back with fully formed expectations. “Do you?”  
  
When the silence stretched out and Brian was still not answering his question, Justin turned to the stove and focused on the task he’d been immersed in before that.  
  
 _Nothing has to change_. Brian tried to think of anything to reply to that, but nothing would come. So he remained quiet, not knowing how to put any of his thoughts in words. He thought it hilariously ironic, how as an ad-man, he was paid for coming up with the most poignant slogans and how, when it came to his personal life, he epically failed in his own chosen discipline.  
  
He forced his attention back to Justin, determined to let the blond decide the course of their fucked-up relationship. He watched the blond put glasses and plates on the table in front of him and serve breakfast. Brian knew he still owed Justin an answer, but none was forthcoming.  
  
Not being able to take the silence anymore, Justin spoke, “We don’t need to act like what happened didn’t happen.” He tried to gauge Brian’s reaction who seemed miles away. “Because it did. And it’s okay if it changed us. The important thing is that we still want to be together.”  
  
Brian nodded, though he wasn’t completely sure it was in agreement. It sounded too much like the post-Ethan agreement. The coffee machine made a gurgling sound and it was Brian’s cue to say something because words were all that was left and the only weapon he’d never yet used for protecting what they have; only ever to keep people at a distance. But if talk was what he had to do to make sure they weren’t marching right back into the same mistakes again, then that was exactly what he was going to do, he vowed silently.  
  
Before he managed to collect his thoughts, Justin, who apparently took his silence for complacency, spoke again.  
  
“You know, it’s weird,” Justin said while chewing on a piece of toast and looking around the loft. “This used to be my home and I used to feel like I belong here.”  
  
“You don’t anymore?” Brian asked, a little afraid of the answer.  
  
“No, that’s not what I was going to say,” Justin calmed him. “It’s just that I have all the memories of us in here – fucking, fighting, having dinner, ordering take-out and watching a movie.”  
  
“And?” Brian prodded when Justin fell silent.  
  
“But there’s also the memories of me without memories. It’s like having another person’s point of view in your head. I see the loft with  _his_  eyes, the way I saw it with no memories. Stark, sober, impersonal. A reflection on you, more than on us.”  
  
Brian nodded. He understood. He remembered this other Justin’s words clearly.  _Too cold_. He was ready to reply with a remark that would have thrown them back into the pre-Ethan days. And it felt so… almost comfortable to revert to the old ways. Only the fear of history repeating itself made Brian change gears and he pushed his plate away.  
  
“This isn’t working, Justin.”  
  
“What?” Justin’s jaw fell open. Sure, he had felt the uneasiness between them but he chalked it up to not being together for so long. He was sure it was just a matter of time until things between them would run smoothly again. He couldn’t believe that Brian was about to quit already.  
  
“This fucking tiptoeing around each other. The loaded words, the portentous silence. It’s taken some time, I admit, but I was getting used to being able to say whatever came to mind; to not have to guard my words around you. Going back to not talking seems like an enormous waste of time. It’s bullshit. I’m not walking that path again.” Brian breathed heavily after delivering what felt like his very own version of the Gettysburg address.  
  
“Who says you need to be careful with your words?” Justin asked in honest surprise and maybe a little of relief at the fact that Brian had come out and said what was on his mind.  
  
“We’re so careful not to say the wrong thing, afraid to hurt the other one’s feelings, we’re acting like totally estranged people. We’ve been there, done that, and decided it wasn’t working for us.”  
  
“I agree. I missed us. I want us to go back to being us.”  
  
“So no more treading around each other. Whatever’s on the mind, out with it.”  
  
Justin frowned, and plowed forward, acting solely on a hunch. “Is there something you want to know?” he asked. Brian was acting weird and that could only mean that he was unsure about something.  
  
“Listen, if you fucked around in New York, just tell me so we can talk about it and come to a decision,” Brian exploded, refusing to feel embarrassed.  
  
“What?!” Justin exclaimed, completely stunned and at a loss for words.  
  
“I won’t hold it against you,” Brian promised. “You didn’t remember our history together or our plans for the future – it’s alright. I won’t get mad.”  
  
“I didn’t fuck around. What makes you even think that?”  
  
“Deb or Mikey said you had… have a boyfriend in New York. And you kept avoiding the topic, so I just assumed…”  
  
“You checked up on me through Deb and Michael?” Justin digressed with a grin on his face.  
  
“No,” Brian protested immediately. “I might have overheard a phone call accidentally.”  
  
“Accidentally on purpose?” Justin laughed now and it felt good to let go of the tension.  
  
“Why is this funny?” Brian growled in frustration.  
  
“The idea alone is so ridiculous, Brian. It deserves to be laughed at.”  
  
“I’m glad I amuse you,” Brian spat, moving to stand up and leave the table.  
  
Justin grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down in his chair again. “No, it’s funny because I am so unbelievably, head over heels, irrevocably in love with you that even the suggestion I would have been able to see anyone but you is out of this world,” he told him with an open gaze.  
  
“So,” Brian wagered, “no other men?”  
  
“Not one.”  
  
“Why the condom then?” Brian asked, bringing the question back to last night.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Last night, you grabbed a condom,” Brian offered in explanation.  
  
“Oh,” Justin said, remembering. “Uh. I didn’t realize… It was a reflex, Brian. I wasn’t thinking about it.”  
  
Brian nodded, forming an ‘oh’ with his mouth. He felt a little stupid now.  
  
“Do you mean to say that all this time… you didn’t… you never…?” Justin searched for words.  
  
Brian looked up at him, stared him right in the eyes and didn’t move a muscle.  
  
“But I was in New York and we weren’t… We thought I’d never remember again…”  
  
Brian continued to just stare.  
  
“And what about your clients? You used to fuck your clients to seal a deal.”  
  
Brian shrugged it away too. “I admit letting go of this vice was especially painful.”  
  
“Must be love, then. You know what they say about it, right? That it hurts and… breaks hearts and,” Justin scrunched up his nose, trying to think of something else, “… and, you know, that’s painful...” He knew he was babbling.  
  
“Are you trying to quote some romantic comedy bullshit?” When Justin grinned amused, Brian added, “Well, you must be completely recovered when you remember that shit.”  
  
“Hey,” Justin protested, “don’t go dissing my only, very secret, vice.”  
  
Brian pulled up an eyebrow at that, knowing it wasn’t Justin’s only one.  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Justin laughed. “You like watching those too.”  
  
“Only ‘cause they have the hottest guys playing the lead role.”  
  
They shared a laugh and after a minute, Justin stood up and walked to where Brian was leaning on the kitchen island. He snaked his hands around the brunet’s waist and rested his head just above the steady heartbeat. A million thoughts ran through his mind but one stood out more clearly than the others.  
  
“It’s always gonna be you and me,” Justin quietly said.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“All this shit that keeps happening to us. And we’re still here; still together. Eventually the universe is going to realize that no matter what it throws at us, it can’t keep us apart.”  
  
“Don’t go all lesbian on me now,” Brian warned him but pulled his arms tighter around the blond.  
  
Justin only laughed lightheartedly in response. After all the soul-striptease, he was relieved to discover that Brian’s deflecting mechanisms were still firmly in place. He felt safe knowing that some things would never change and that he didn’t want or need them to.  
  
“You can’t hide from me now, Mr. Kinney,” but he was not above teasing Brian either. “I’ve seen all of you now. I know you inside and out.”  
  
Brian hesitated a moment before he replied, “Not really.”  
  
Justin was about to ask what Brian meant, but a look into the hazel eyes told him enough. He burrowed even deeper into Brian’s chest. “Three months are up,” he whispered.  
  
“More than three,” Brian finally spoke. Two more weeks and they’d hit the six months mark.  
  
“Today’s a Saturday. The clinic’s closed except for emergencies. We’ll have to wait until Monday.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Brian said. “We have stuff to do. We’ll be busy this weekend.”  
  
“We will?” Justin asked because it didn’t sound like Brian meant a weekend spent in bed. It sounded like he actually meant work and Justin creased his brow.  
  
“Yes. We need to pack all of our shit.”  
  
“What is it with you and packing? Did you develop an OCD while I was away?” Justin asked, a little impatient.  
  
“We’re moving, Sunshine,” Brian announced and grabbed his cup and plate, placing them in the sink.  
  
“We are?”  
  
“You were right. Both of you were. This is not our place. It’s his.”  
  
“His?”  
  
“The lonely, miserable bastard who didn’t believe in love and pushed everyone away who came too close to teach him otherwise.”  
  
Justin objected, “But I fell in love with that miserable old bastard.”  
  
“I didn’t say old,” Brian pressed out between the teeth in an overly menacing tone that was supposed to be a warning, but had the effect of foreplay on Justin.  
  
“Hmmm, I don’t know,” the blond pretended to think, “you only fucked me once last night.”  
  
Ignoring Justin’s playful banter, Brian grabbed the younger man’s wrist and pulled him closer again. “No, you didn’t. Mikey and half of Pittsburgh fell in love with the miserable bastard.  _You_  fell in love with  _me_.”  
  
Justin’s face lit up with the most incredible smile Brian had ever seen. He was so captivated staring at it, he almost didn’t notice when Justin reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it over his head. Under Brian’s stare, Justin slowly backed away from him, walking backwards towards the bedroom while untying the drawstring of his sweatpants.  
  
Brian stood frozen in his place for a while longer, watching as Justin slowly turned and started to lower the soft material over his perfectly shaped butt. If that was where opening up and talking got him, Brian mused, he’d definitely resort to this technique of communication more often. With that resolution firmly in place, he followed the blond up the steps.


	25. Chapter 25

Brian stood at the foot of the bed, head slightly cocked to one side, fingertip on his lips, watching and contemplating. Justin was still dozing after an intense orgasm, sprawled in the center of the messed up bed, amid a tangle of sheets and limbs. Brian had woken up from their midday nap about half an hour ago and, after having refreshed himself in the bathroom, silently stood and watched the sleeping form of Justin. Brian felt a mixture of restlessness and general wave of euphoric optimism which, in combination, made him want to move, to set things in motion. For once, and in stark contrast to his former behavioral patterns where he just acted on his urges without examining where they were coming from or caring for their hidden meaning, he knew exactly what the source of his edginess was this time: As much as Brian loved the loft, he itched to leave.  
  
His living in the city again, in his former fuck pad as Jennifer had so aptly termed this place, was always supposed to be just temporary. It was only a means to be available in case Justin would decide to return. And the truth at the heart of things was that Brian had loved living in Britin. The remoteness and quietness of the house had fitted well with his desire to be left alone. But it was more than that – the house felt… promising. The solidness and sheer presence of it was reassuring and the interior had a warm feel to it that was so unlike anything he’d ever felt at the loft. Brian couldn’t wait to bring Justin back there; or bring Justin there. Period. The last time they’d visited Britin together Justin hadn’t been Justin, and Brian wanted the real Justin to finally see the house in its finished state. He wasn’t sure how much Justin could remember from what he had seen on that last visit. And a lot had changed since then.  
  
He felt like Justin and he had outgrown the loft and everything that it represented. Something had changed between the two of them – be it the result of the amnesia or of being apart or of being back together, it didn’t matter – and for once Brian was not afraid of it and didn’t try to fight it or stand in its way. It was finally time to move on.  
  
Brian silently scolded himself for his lesbianic thought but he couldn’t help feeling like they stood at the dawn of a new beginning and Brian wanted it to commence already, without the vestiges of this old life, this past, hanging over them.  
  
He looked around assessing the amount of work it would take to clean this place out. If they got to it immediately, and packed up the things that Brian had brought back with him when he’d returned to the loft, it shouldn’t take up more than a couple of hours, he figured. There weren’t that many things that needed to be taken back to Britin. A few clothes – alright, so maybe more than just a few, Brian admitted – some DVDs for long evenings’ entertainment, some stuff in the kitchen that he needed for preparing a perfunctory breakfast, his computer and some files he’d brought back from the office, plus a couple of cupboards and drawers that the movers forgot to clear out or hadn’t known about their existence when they cleared out the rest. It would be ridiculous to hire movers again for these few things when he and Justin could perfectly well do it on their own and be done with it.  
  
However, standing there, watching Justin sleep, two opposite desires fought inside of him: he was impatient to start packing so they could get out of here that evening still; on the other hand Justin looked so damn warm and cozy as he lay there on the bed. Deciding to join him for just another five minutes, Brian got in bed. Justin immediately snuggled up to him.  
  
“Thank god,” the blond said while keeping his eyes closed. “You were thinking so loud, you could have easily woken the dead.”  
  
Brian chuckled quietly, his chest rumbling softly under Justin’s cheek. Alright,  _ten_  more minutes. But then they’d really need to get started.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Brian was rummaging in the deep recesses of his closet when a voice, dulled by layers of clothes hanging over his head, reached his ears.  
  
“Tell me again why we have to do it ourselves?”  
  
“Who else is going to do it?” Brian replied, his head emerging from the closet.  
  
“Why can’t we hire people to do this?” Justin asked with a hopeful tone in his voice despite the fact that he had already asked this exact same question numerous times before.  
  
“Because it’s Saturday and because we have to keep ourselves busy until Monday—” Brian purposefully overheard Justin’s muttered, “I know other ways to keep us busy,” and continued, “…and since when do you have the money to hire movers? Weren’t you, until yesterday, still living in a rat infested hole in the wall?”  
  
“First, I did  _not_  have rats! Herbert was a  _mouse_  who happened to have a large family and—“  
  
“All of whom you’ve called Herbert,” Brian cut in.  
  
“It’s not my fault they all looked alike! You try telling one apart from the other,” Justin exclaimed indignantly.  
  
“They’re a pest. You’re not supposed to give them names in the first place,” Brian explained patiently, hiding his amusement.  
  
“They’ve lived there first.” In Justin’s head it made all the sense in the world and Brian wasn’t about to challenge that. Instead, he let Justin continue. “Besides, I left him, or rather them, behind when I moved out of Tasha’s place.”  
  
Brian smirked and didn’t say a word. When Justin realized he still had the center stage, he went on to dispute all of Brian’s previous objections on why they could or would not hire professionals to do the packing.  
  
“Secondly, movers do work on Saturdays too, you know?” He directed a pointed glare at Brian who responded with a calm stare of his own which prompted Justin into his third objection. “And thirdly, what’s a sugardaddy worth if he’s not going to pay for shit I want? Seriously, what kind of sugardaddy are you?”  
  
“What kind of a kept boy are  _you_?!” Brian countered. “You wouldn’t let me pay for your accommodation in the big scary city; you insist on paying back what I paid for your school education. If I suck at being a sugardaddy, then it’s because you suck at being a kept boy.”  
  
“But we’re both pros when it comes to sucking, right?” Justin grinned wide and pulled his T-shirt over his head, hoping to distract Brian and to weasel out of the boring chore, at least for a while.  
  
“I swear your mind is a one-way street.”  
  
“Are you complaining?” Justin halted mid-motion, brow furrowed, pants halfway down his ass.  
  
Brian admired the view for a second, his mind lazily flashing back to his self-imposed time schedule. At this rate, they’d never finish before the evening, but Brian wasn’t about to complain. “Never,” he replied.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“When you said ‘packing our shit’ I thought you meant taking what we need and coming back for the rest of it another day.”  
  
Brian rolled his eyes at Justin’s complaint, simply because he knew Justin wasn’t really whining, but merely playing a game of ‘Let’s Annoy Brian So He Feels The Need To Punish Me’. He’d been successful a few times, too. But it was getting late and Brian was dead set on not letting himself get distracted again. No matter how well-executed Justin’s pout became. And Justin had gotten really good at it too. He rarely needed to try very hard if he wanted something. A suggestive look or an eyebrow raised in invitation was enough most of the times. When he combined it with a pout or a lick of his lips, there was no telling how far Brian would go for him then.  
  
“I want to be done with it,” Brian reminded his whining partner.  
  
Justin was about to argue the point when something in Brian’s facial expression made him stop. He suddenly realized that there were ulterior motives to Brian’s wish to leave and he got serious for a moment.  
  
Sensing the slight change in Justin’s demeanor, Brian explained in a somber tone, voicing his earlier thoughts, “I need this to be finished; to be over. So we can move on from there.”  
  
“You don’t want to come back here, to the loft?” Justin asked surprised, realizing what Brian was saying.  
  
“Eventually, yes. But not yet.”  
  
“But it’s been our home. There’s so many memories of us there,” Justin gave voice to his reservations.  
  
“Not all of them are roses and sunbeams,” Brian objected.  
  
“No,” Justin admitted, “but aren’t you feeling nostalgic? Aren’t you sad to abandon this place just like that?”  
  
“I’m not abandoning it. I intend for us to keep it. But I’ve left before. I’ve been living in Britin after you left, remember? I want us to go back there without any dead weight on our shoulders.”   
  
“You talk about this place like it’s doomed or something.”  
  
“Maybe it is.” Brian was quiet for a moment, simply gazing into Justin’s blue eyes. “Come to the house with me. You’ll see what I mean.”  
  
They stared at each other for the longest time before Justin nodded his assent. He got the distinct impression that the whole undertaking was Brian’s way of emotionally working through the admittedly complicated situation. Justin suppressed a happy sigh and grin as he realized that by insisting on working side by side, Brian was including him in the process of coming clean, not only allowing him to be a part of it but letting him inside. It was important to Brian that they worked together on a new start and Justin wanted to jump up and down like a silly teenage girl when it dawned on him how much really had changed. For Brian’s benefit, he refrained from commenting and decided to go along with his nonchalant behavior. But not without moaning and grousing and complaining every step of the way, because it lightened the mood and because he knew Brian and didn’t want him to feel awkward or self-conscious after having opened up to Justin. Brian may have made tremendous progress in admitting to his feelings and fears, but he still didn’t feel comfortable in his skin afterwards. Justin tried to make it easier for him and growled with a look towards the kitchen.  
  
“You really are luxury-spoiled,” Justin said, changing the topic and eying all the kitchen equipment. “You don’t need half this shit in the mornings.”  
  
“Whom are  _you_  calling spoiled?!” Brian replied, playing along with Justin and remembering Justin’s preference for the expensive Arabian Frankincense shampoo that Brian ordered online and the one Dollar an ounce Mexican Vanilla ice-cream that he insisted Brian bought.  
  
“I could give lessons on how to live out of a duffel bag for years,” Justin countered.  
  
“You could give lessons on other things too,” Brian shamelessly changed the topic again and directed a sultry and very suggestive look at Justin who groaned in response to being teased. He grabbed a kitchen towel from the nearby counter and threw it at Brian who laughed and ducked. Brian sidestepped the material and wound an arm around Justin’s middle, pulling him close. Pressing a kiss to a spot just under Justin’s ear, he then murmured, “Later,” and walked back to the bedroom.  
  
Justin groaned again. “Fucking tease.” He went back to packing up the few things they kept in the kitchen cupboards and drawers. His distaste for the tedious task and growing annoyance with Brian made him pull at the top drawer too hard. He accidentally pulled it from its hinges and it cluttered loudly on the timber floor boards, spilling its contents across the kitchen floor.  
  
“What was that?” Brian called from the bedroom, still busy with clearing out the bottom of his closet. Brian couldn’t help but wonder how he’d managed to amass such amounts of boxes and cartons full of god knew what in the short time that he’d lived in the loft after having movers ship all his belongings to Britin. In a moment of critical assessment, he admitted to possibly, maybe, at times, being susceptible to excessive online shopping, especially in times of great personal distress. He also reasoned that Justin’s recent departure for New York fucking City was an acceptable stress factor that merited the money spent on… two stress relief power showerheads? Why the fuck had he bought  _two_  of those? Oh, right, one for the loft and one for the ensuite bathroom in Britin. But what were they doing in the bedroom closet? Brian shook his head and listened to Justin’s reply.  
  
“Nothing. Just the last of my patience going down the drain,” Justin called back dryly. He cursed as he kneeled down to collect the strewn take-out menus and smaller kitchen equipment like bottle openers and… a screwdriver? What the fuck was that doing in there? He reached for it, but managed to push at it instead, so that it rolled under the kitchen counter. Cursing and sighing in frustration, he lowered himself further to the floor, pressing his cheek to it, and tried to see something in the small dark gap under the cabinet, muttering to himself the whole time.  
  
“Oh, that’s simply disgusting. You have to tell your housemaid that she needs to clean  _under_  the cupboards too. And what the fuck do we need a screwdriver for? It’s not like we ever do some home improvement work around here. Probably a souvenir left behind by a plumber or electrician whom you fucked too—“  
  
He fell silent all of sudden when his hand pulled out the object that he had seen glinting from between the debris under the furniture. He stared at it for a while before saying something.  
  
“Brian?” Justin called out a little louder and jerked in surprise when he looked up and saw Brian standing above him.  
  
The brunet had come out of the bedroom to check on Justin after he had fallen silent. Brian had wanted to make sure he was alright. He hadn’t expected to see Justin crouching on the floor on all fours and staring hypnotically at a wedding band.  
  
“Is that…?” Justin asked, getting up but not taking his eyes from Brian’s face.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What’s it doing under there?”  
  
Brian shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable in his skin.  
  
“Did you try to flush them down the drain?” Justin asked.  
  
“Yeah, that’s how they ended up under the cupboard,” Brian replied sarcastically, “because I flushed them down.” He rolled his eyes. But Justin continued to stare at him, refusing to change the subject or allowing Brian to deflect using his tried techniques.  
  
“I may or may not have chucked them at the wall when you left for New York the second time around,” Brian mumbled, barely audible.  
  
Against his will, Justin’s mouth corners pulled up into a smile. “You threw a fit when I left? That’s so…”  
  
“No,” Brian clarified, cutting into whatever Justin was about to say, “I threw the rings.”  
  
Justin pulled the ring over his left ring finger – it was way too big for him. “Where’s mine?” He asked, holding the ring out to Brian.  
  
Brian shrugged and took it. “Don’t know. I didn’t keep track of where they came to rest.”  
  
“So it’s still here somewhere?” Justin concluded.  
  
“Probably. If the housemaid hasn’t vacuumed them up already.”  
  
Justin doubted that she had, but nodded and thought for a moment. “I’ll make you a deal. You find my ring and I finish packing up the bedroom.”  
  
“You’ll only wrinkle the clothes.”  
  
“I promise I won’t touch your designer suits. Or designer shirts,” he added at Brian’s pointed glare. “I’ll handle the rest. You can take care of the hanging clothes.”  
  
Brian was still reluctant to agree to this trade-off when Justin said, “Hey, you threw away my ring. You’re lucky I’m letting you off the hook this easily. Find it. I want my ring.”  
  
“What for?” Brian asked in irritation.  
  
Justin pulled a face as though Brian had just grown a second head. “To wear it,” he enunciated every word clearly. “What else?”  
  
“You want to wear your ring?” Brian asked, somewhat surprised.  
  
“That was the agreement, wasn’t it? We’d wait till I was back from New York. I’m back, am I not?”  
  
Brian was silent and a cold dread ran through Justin’s veins, freezing his posture into an immovable statue.  
  
After staring at each other for minutes, Justin finally broke the silence. “Brian?”  
  
He waited till hazel eyes focused on his and he was sure he had all of Brian’s attention. “Am I here for good?”  
  
Instead of a reply, Brian pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Well…”  
  
“Brian, it’s okay,” Justin interrupted him, trying to un-complicate things and praying that his voice didn’t shake. “I get it. After we worked out this new situation, we can go back to how things were.”  
  
“And how exactly would that be?” Brian finally found his voice again.  
  
“You know, me in New York; you here in the Pitts. Or rather in West Virginia, once we manage to finish moving all of this stuff.”  
  
Brian nodded slowly before replying, “Don‘t you remember me telling you to pack your shit yesterday? What, you’re suffering from selective memory now?” He hadn’t been about to work in an amnesia joke, but couldn’t refrain.  
  
Justin smiled and they both breathed a little easier, realizing they were able to joke about it. “No,” Justin answered Brian’s question. “I just assumed it was a heat of the moment kind of thing.”  
  
“Not the kind of  _heat of the moment_  situation that I’m known for.”  
  
“So,” Justin drawled, working through the real meaning of Brian’s innuendo, “you don’t want me to go back to New York?”  
  
“I never wanted you there in the first place,” Brian admitted.  
  
“You were the one who pushed me out the door!” Justin’s voice rose a couple of octaves.  
  
Brian replied calmly and reasonably, “You needed to be away.”  
  
Deciding to forego this particular argument for reasons of not wanting to repeat himself for the umpteenth time, Justin responded, “And now I don’t need to anymore?”  
  
“Don’t see how that’s possible,” Brian answered. “Gotta keep an eye on you. We’ve seen what happens if I don’t.” He pushed his tongue in his cheek again to refrain from grinning, but didn’t quite manage to suppress his smile.  
  
“So you’re never letting me out of your eyesight again?” Justin laughed.  
  
“Nope.” Brian allowed a grin to light up his face. “Not as long as you haven’t learned to take care of yourself.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Justin protested with an agreeable laugh in his voice. “I know how to take care of myself.”  
  
Brian pulled him close and Justin murmured against the broad chest, “God, you’re such an asshole.”  
  
“It’s true – I am. But that’s not exactly news and you love me anyway.”  
  
“I do,” Justin said, voice turning serious again. He reached up, waiting till their lips touched, and whispered against Brian’s mouth, lips fluttering against Brian’s, “I missed you.” Brian’s lips pressed more firmly against his and Justin surrendered, enjoying the soft and slow kiss.  
  
Brian broke the contact eventually, “Justin, I mean it. You gotta start being more careful. No more getting into fist fights, or running around with guns, or falling off ladders. There’s too many lives depending on you being your sunshiny self.”  
  
“Okay,” Justin promised, accepting Brian’s romantic love declaration, even though Brian would rather buy  _and_  wear a suit off the rack than call it this.  
  
They pulled apart after a minute or so and Justin reached for Brian’s tightly clenched fist. He opened Brian’s fingers to reveal the ring he’d given Brian earlier and took it.  
  
“I’ll keep this one safe for you till you find mine,” he said, tucking the wedding band into a pocket of his jeans.  
  
Brian groaned at the prospect of having to crawl his floors in search of a tiny piece of jewelry. Accepting his fate and looking around for the best place to start his search, he said, “We could get new ones, you know. Let me indulge in my sugardaddy tendencies.”  
  
“No, we can’t get new ones. We have to find the missing one of the pair.”  
  
“It’s just metal, Justin. Albeit very expensive metal.”  
  
“It’s not just metal. Those rings mean something. At least they do to me.”  
  
Brian looked at Justin thoughtfully and nodded. “Okay.” He understood.  
  
“They’re part of our past, Brian,” Justin continued. “Something that we lost sight of and need to reclaim again. They mean something,” Justin repeated again. Those rings were part not only of their past, but also marked one of the happiest times in Justin’s life. Sure, they could easily get new rings, but the old ones carried a statement that any new ones would not. He didn’t want to wear a ring simply because it would be a symbol that he belonged to someone or because of some convention that neither he nor Brian believed in. Wearing the rings was not about being married and it was not for anyone but themselves. It had nothing to do with any of the bullshit that others would think of once they saw them wearing matching rings. No. To Justin, wearing his ring was about triumph. At some point in the past they had made a promise to each other. And nothing in this world had the power to make them go back on it. The rings,  _their_  rings, were about fulfilling a prophecy. He tried to explain it to Brian, “I get that we need a new beginning, Brian. I do. Only, I don’t want to replace the past either. Not everything was bad. Actually, some things were pretty amazing. It all brought us here and I want to remember it. It’s our—”  
  
“Justin,” Brian interrupted him. “I get it. I’ll start looking.”  
  
Justin looked at him. Yes, Brian understood. “Thanks.” Justin simply smiled and moved towards the bedroom to start on his task.  
  
  



	26. Chapter 26

Justin had stopped rolling his eyes sometime after the seventh or eighth box that contained a leather belt from Gucci, Prada, Armani or whatever-the-fuck-else-pretentious-and-completely-overpriced label Brian was so fond of, all new and yet unused of course. Justin’s lack of emotional response to Brian’s shopping habits had only partly to do with accepting that Brian was incorrigible in his pain management techniques; another part of it was because his head started to hurt at the many eye rolls and he figured if he was going to keep it up, he’d be facing a full-blown migraine by the end of the day. He just continued putting it all in the big cartons that the movers had thankfully left behind. Or maybe they were from Brian when he temporarily moved into the loft again – Justin wasn’t too clear on that and it didn’t matter. He was finally seeing some progress, having cleared the bottom and top shelves of the closet, and now moved on to his and Brian’s bedside tables.  
  
Pulling open the nightstand on Brian’s side of the bed first, he took in the contents: several tubes and bottles of lube – he packed those, and two opened big packs of condoms. Justin roughly estimated how much more of those he and Brian would need until the results from their tests were back and finally packed one of the opened boxes, emptying the other one into the almost empty bowl. This particular decorative article would stay behind – it had served its purpose.  
  
While continuing to inspect and sort through the rest of the nightstand’s contents – an almost full carton of cigarettes, two packs of matches, a dildo, the presence of which Justin filed away as interesting, and a pair of handcuffs – Justin wondered how pretentious it would seem offering the remains of the unused condoms to one of their friends. Deciding, he didn’t want the news that Brian and he were doing it raw advertised to the greater area of Pittsburgh, Emmett was out of the question. Also not wanting to rub Michael’s face in something that he could never have with Ben, Justin decided to silently slip them into Ted’s or Blake’s hands. Ted had proved a real friend to Brian and Justin trusted him not to make a big deal out of it. After all, as far as Justin knew Ted had kept quiet about the fact that he and Brian had set up joined accounts before Justin had left for New York, or the fact that he was in on Brian’s health insurance policy as Brian’s domestic partner.  
  
Justin finished emptying Brian’s bedside table and moved on to his own. Not much in there. A few of his old sketch books in varying sizes as well as a couple of new ones that he remembered Brian buying for him during the amnesia period in hopes it would make Justin want to draw again, a box of carbon pencils bought for the same reason, a couple art books that he’d always planned on reading but never got around to do so because of other activities in this bed that kept him from it.  
  
Quickly packing those few items, Justin eventually couldn’t stave off turning to the large drawers under the bed. He knew from past experience that Brian used this space to store things he didn’t want to see or deal with or that were simply no longer needed but too good to be thrown away yet. Preparing for it taking up more of his time, Justin lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the pulled out drawer. He pulled out the box containing more of their sex toys, not sifting through the contents of it and simply stuffing the whole box into one of the larger, already half-filled, cartons. Next to it lay a stack of old magazines that Justin knew Brian was keeping for sentimental reasons, even though he would never admit it. They held the first ads that Brian had come up with in his career and Justin packed those too, idly wondering why they were still there and hadn’t been packed away by the movers. Probably because they didn’t know there were drawers under this bed, Justin reasoned.  
  
Reaching further in, he pulled out several of Brian’s advertising awards that Brian didn’t want demonstratively exposed in his Kinnetik office. Brian’s philosophy was that you could only have so many displayed to impress the clients before it turned into unappealing bragging. Justin wasn’t about to throw those out, however, and carefully wrapped them in packaging paper, thinking he knew the perfect spot for them in Brian’s home office in Britin. They’d look good above Brian’s desk. That was, if Brian hadn’t moved the furniture, Justin thought. He wasn’t sure how Britin looked now. He remembered bits and pieces from the one week that he’d spent with Brian there during the time when he couldn’t remember. But not all of the rooms had been finished then. And even those that were, Justin didn’t know if he remembered them correctly. When it came to the house in West Virginia, his memory was a convoluted mixture of pictures how he remembered them from seeing them with his own eyes, images that he’d had in his head while planning to decorate and furnish it during his time in New York, and sketches that he’d drawn for Brian to give the older man a visual of his ideas. Justin couldn’t be one hundred per-cent certain which of those corresponded with the current reality.  
  
He didn’t ask Brian to describe it to him because soon enough he’d be able to see it all with his own eyes. In the meantime, he continued sifting through the large drawer. He threw out a few instruction manuals and warranty certificates for technical equipment they no longer had or needed and found an old Elvis CD that he packed and made a note to tease Brian about hiding it later. Thinking he was finished with this side of the bed, he pushed the drawer close, when from the farthest back of it a shoe carton slid out across the now empty bottom. Justin furrowed his brow and gingerly took it. He was blessed with a natural curiosity, and took offense to occasionally being called nosy by his mother. He’d gone through the contents of the loft’s cupboards and closets quite a few times on occasion, guided by his desire to get to know Brian. He’d been a teenager then and he hadn’t been feeling guilty, justifying his snooping with Brian’s unwillingness to share. That’s why it surprised Justin to see a box in the loft that he hadn’t seen before, except, of course, for those containing Brian’s recent shopping treasures. Judging by its worn and frayed edges, this box was old though, which piqued Justin’s interest even more.  
  
He pulled off the lid and came face to face with a new old memory. He touched the soft material that should have been feeling brittle or rough where it was stained, but wasn’t because its owner had worn it around his neck for so long, it had become soft and pliable again. The delicate feel to the touch belied the horrid dark brown patterns that told of hate and violence and misdirected guilt. Brian had worn this around his neck for months, like he’d worn around the guilt that accompanied it. Justin hoped that the night when he’d freed Brian of the scarf, he’d have freed him from the guilt as well but by keeping this piece of garment, Brian was telling him that he couldn’t yet let go of it. Justin closed his eyes, not able to look at it any longer, and the moment he shut them, he saw himself dancing with Brian, winding this very scarf sans the angry stains around Brian’s neck in a silent declaration of ‘You’re mine,’ and Brian smiling and wordlessly agreeing to be his. He saw them both swirling and dipping to the music, laughing and pulling at each other’s hands.  
  
Justin opened his eyes again and looked at the worn and tainted material between his fingers. It didn’t scare him anymore. No matter what had happened afterwards, it was still the best night of his life. He rose to his feet and walked into the kitchen where Brian was busy stemming the refrigerator away from the wall.  
  
“You need some help with that?” Justin asked.  
  
  
Brian didn’t turn around. He panted heavily and declined, “Nope, not anymore.”  
  
He’d pulled the fridge far enough from the wall to be able to insinuate himself between the machine and the dark red bricks behind it. He bent down and dug around a little before straightening up again and triumphantly raising his arm, holding a small white-golden ring between his fingertips. “Ha!”  
  
He turned to Justin, grinning madly with victory, but the smile slipped from his face when he saw what Justin was holding in his hands. His raised arm slowly sank and so did his elation from only two seconds ago. He remained quiet.  
  
“Do you want to keep it?” Justin asked in a clear, unwavering voice, almost nonchalant, and Brian needed a second to figure out if he was just acting it. He wasn’t, which surprised Brian a little. Make that a lot.  
  
He still didn’t say a word, too many struggling for dominance but none of them too vehemently.  
  
“I don’t think you should,” Justin continued. “I think we should let it go; throw it away and never see it again.”  
  
“It helps me remember,” Brian whispered.  
  
“Remember what?” Justin asked curiously.  
  
Brian shrugged, not giving Justin an answer.  
  
“Enough with the guilt trip,” Justin decided, his voice steady and strong. “It wasn’t your—”  
  
“Not that. Not the guilt,” Brian interrupted.  
  
Justin closed his mouth as another realization made him shut up. Brian wasn’t using it to remind himself of the bashing and his alleged role in it. He wasn’t using it to blame himself for what happened. He had kept the scarf because it also reminded him of the other part of the evening, the one that was worth remembering. And he was probably feeling guilty because of that, Justin figured. The expression on Brian’s face proved him right.  
  
He watched as Brian closed his eyes and said, “You remembered the bat. But you couldn’t remember what came before that. And I didn’t want to forget too.” Brian looked at Justin and repeated, “It helps me remember.”  
  
Seeing Brian’s glistening eyes, tears sprang to Justin’s eyes as well, but he blinked them away. “It helped me remember too. That’s why we don’t need it anymore. It did its job. From now on, if you need help remembering, just ask me,” Justin added with a quiet smile.  
  
“I thought you’d want me to forget.”  
  
“The best night of our lives? Never.”  
  
Brian finally dared smile too. “So it’s still the best night of your life?”  
  
“Are you kidding? Of course it is. We looked beautiful together.”  
  
“We still do,” Brian injected.  
  
“That we do,” Justin agreed.  
  
“We’re gonna have more of those, you know?”  
  
“More of what?” Justin asked.  
  
“More of those ‘best night of your life’ things,” Brian explained.  
  
“Right,” Justin said, catching up. “Only a couple tests away.”  
  
Brian groaned. “And they say  _my_  mind’s in the gutter. I meant tonight, twat.” He crossed the space between him and Justin and wound an arm around the blond’s waist. Taking Justin’s hand with the other, the silk scarf glided gracefully to the floor and lay there forgotten by the both of them. Brian waited till Justin’s face erupted in his namesake megawatt smile, and slowly pushed the ring onto Justin’s ring finger.  
  
Justin held up his hand and admired the looks of it for a while before his face darkened. “Did you clean it first?”  
  
Brian groaned again. “Way to ruin a moment, Sunshine.”  
  
Justin grinned and reached up to press a kiss on Brian’s mouth, but Brian pulled away. “Uh-uh. We’re not there yet. There’s a protocol to follow.” He reached into Justin’s sweatpants pocket and pulled out his ring. Holding it out towards Justin, he raised his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
Justin took the ring and Brian’s left hand. He pressed a soft kiss onto Brian’s finger before sliding the ring on and kissing that too.  
  
He looked up into Brian’s face then, grinning like a fool. “My mother’s gonna hit you so hard because she wasn’t there when you made an honest man of her little boy.” He giggled. “And Debbie! Debbie’s gonna hit you up the head too and then she’s gonna smother you in one of her bear hugs and she’ll say something mushy and you’ll roll your eyes. And Daph’s gonna screech so loud. They’ll all be thrilled that they didn’t have to buy presents again…”  
  
Brian interrupted his excited verbal diarrhea by pushing his tongue into Justin’s mouth. After coming back up for air, Brian asked, “Are you happy?”  
  
Justin smiled impossibly wide and nodded happily.  
  
“Told ya,” Brian said.  
  



	27. Chapter 27

“Brian?“  
  
“Huh?” Brian was still dazed from the recent orgasm and replied instinctively, without opening his eyes.  
  
“I thought I’d never have this again.”  
  
That shook Brian awake a little and dislodged the remaining dizziness.  
  
“This?” Brian asked, carding a hand through Justin’s sweat dampened hair.  
  
Justin nodded, his head tucked under Brian’s chin.  
  
“You should have just come back. You could have had it back a lot sooner.”  
  
“Yeah, my Mom kept telling me this. Said I was being selfish.”  
  
“You should have listened to her,” Brian said.  
  
“I couldn’t. I was so busy convincing her that I was doing fine.” The bitter sadness in Justin’s voice told Brian that he’d been far from fine. He was surprised Jennifer could have been fooled by the act.  
  
“Yeah, how did that work out?”  
  
“I think she believed me. I never told her I wasn’t planning on ever coming back to be with you again. So she thought I just needed time. She’s gotten really good at that. The giving time and space thing, I mean.”  
  
“She’s had practice.” Brian squirmed when it left his mouth. He didn’t mean to destroy the mood by reminding them of their less than stellar times.  
  
“Yeah, I guess she has,” Justin agreed. “No more of that, alright?”  
  
“Agreed.” After a pause, Brian asked, “Have you talked to Daphne?”  
  
Justin squirmed a little in Brian’s arms but replied, “Yeah, actually, I did.”  
  
Brian was surprised by the admission. Justin must have noticed something because next he said, “I called her a couple of weeks ago. Maybe more. My mom wasn’t very forthcoming in providing me with news about you and I didn’t want to call anyone from the family because I didn’t want all hell to break loose. So I called Daph. Figured I could play the ‘best friends since childhood’ card into tricking her not to tell you anything.”  
  
“She didn’t,” Brian replied, slightly angry that Justin inspired this stoic loyalty in his mother and friend alike.  
  
“Yeah, she also didn’t know anything. I thought you were talking to her on a regular basis. I remembered you telling me that one time. But when I asked her about you she said she hadn’t spoken to you in months.”  
  
“She hasn’t.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Brian tried to shrug it away. “We stopped talking even before you had gone back to New York. I guess we didn’t have much to say to each other,” Brian closed.  
  
Justin nodded. He’d have to call Daphne, explain everything, maybe even start a slow approach again. He was happy being back in Pittsburgh again, happy that he and Brian were given another chance. But for the first time since being back, Justin fully appreciated the amount of work that still lay before them. There were still so many things that needed to be sorted out; things that they yet had to talk about. All in time, he reasoned.  
  
Brian interrupted his train of thought with a question. “So, did you get to enjoy New York like you imagined you would?” Despite having accepted that Justin was back to stay, Brian was still curious what his life had been like in the city during that time that they didn’t communicate with each other. He didn’t doubt that Justin  _wanted_  to be back here in Pittsburgh, but Brian wanted to know what exactly Justin was giving up.  
  
“Hardly. I was working twenty hours a day. And the rest I spent fantasizing about you and what you were doing and when that became too much, I drowned those fantasies in alcohol. Jeremy always knew when it was that time again and he’d appear on my doorstep with a bottle of something that he snagged from his last bartending job.”  
  
“You never fucked him?” Brian asked again, his insecurities resurfacing for a moment.  
  
“Never. I already told you that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“You don’t fuck your friends. You taught me that, don’t you remember?”  
  
Thinking about Michael made Justin think about everyone else. “Brian? I really miss everyone. Can we go to Debbie’s for dinner?”  
  
“Tonight?” Brian asked, wondering how immediate Justin’s request was.  
  
The blond scrunched up his nose in fake embarrassment and Brian had his answer. As much as he wanted to fulfill each of Justin’s wished, he was still in doubt whether they were strong enough already to face the family. All of them would have questions, lots and lots of questions. Did they have the answers already? A look in Justin’s hopeful and confident face chased off any doubts Brian might have had. No time like the present, Brian thought.  
  
“I’ll call and ask if she’s up for a few dinner guests.”  
  
“And I should call my Mom. She’ll be thrilled I’m back.”  
  
Brian listened and nodded before suggesting another visit, “We could fly up to Canada, go see Gus.”  
  
Justin smiled a huge smile. “I’d love that. I’ve missed him so much.”  
  
“He misses you too.”  
  
“He hasn’t forgotten me yet?”  
  
Brian squirmed a little but finally answered. “I’ve been telling him about you. And sending pictures, so he wouldn’t forget.”  
  
Justin was quiet for a few minutes, not trusting his voice, before he whispered, “Thank you.”  
  
Brian, wisely, didn’t comment.  
  
“You’re an old softie, Brian Kinney. And a romantic one at that.”  
  
“You sure about the softie part, Sunshine?” Brian emphasized the point by pressing his hard erection against Justin’s thigh.  
  
“Yup. An old, big, fuzzy softie,” Justin teased. “Telling your kid about me so he would remember. Deep down you never believed I was gone forever. You’ve become an optimist,” Justin concluded his monologue and ducked away from the expected swat to his ass, laughing out loud.  
  
“Brian Kinney is an optimist!” He proclaimed, kneeling on the bed and throwing his arms wide. Brian’s deathly glare only made him laugh louder and smile wider. “Don’t worry.” Justin snuggled back into Brian’s arms, suddenly tired. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret it safe with me.”  
  
“What’s with the old recently?” Brian complained, reflecting back at how often Justin had used the word today.  
  
“You’re not old,” came the automatic response from a tired Justin who underscored his statement with a yawn that didn’t help Brian believe him more.  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Brian replied sourly, not really convinced.  
  
“You’ll always seem younger than you are,” Justin tried to placate him.  
  
“Yeah? How you figure that?”  
  
“Because you’re with me,” Justin said simply. “See,” he began to explain his logic, “I’m young and I look even younger, right?” He waited for a response, but none came, so he continued. “Well, people who see you with me are just going to assume that you must be younger than you look because you’re with me.”  
  
Brian rolled his eyes and furrowed his brow when Justin concluded his reasoning. “You suck at this reassurance crap.”  
  
“Or they’re gonna think you’re a child molester,” Justin added.  
  
“Oh my god, you  _really_  suck at this.”  
  
“Either way, one look at me and it won’t matter how old you are or how old you look. Because they’re gonna be salivating over my ass,” Justin just kept going.  
  
“Can you please just shut up?” Brian begged.  
  
Justin grinned. “Make me!”  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Debbie’s POV  
  
The doorbell rings just as I’m elbow deep in marinara sauce.  
  
“Michael, get the door, will ya?” I call from the kitchen; maybe a little louder than necessary but Ben and Hunter are deep in a conversation concerning his future school applications which made Michael retread into his comic book world and god knows he’s not easily jarred from that.  
  
“I got it, Debbie,” Ben calls from the living room, ever the helpful son-in-law.  
  
I emerge from the kitchen in time to see Ben and Michael, arms around each other, standing aside to let our guests of honor in. Brian’s told me that much on the phone already, but it’s still a sight to behold: Sunshine is finally back! I haven’t seen or talked to him in months, but his face still lights up a whole fucking room. I dab at my eyes with a kitchen towel in an attempt not to get too emotional. But, fuck it, our family’s finally complete again. I pull the boy out from Brian’s grasp and into my arms and give him a hug that he won’t forget. He laughs and I swear it’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a whole while.  
  
“Hey, Deb,” he sounds a little out of breath and as if on cue, Michael speaks.  
  
“Let him go, Ma. He’s turning blue.”  
  
I release my firm hold on him and let my hands rest on his shoulders, looking him up and down. His eyes twinkle mischievously and that sunshine smile plays on his lips and he’s our Justin, only he’s too fucking thin. He’s a regular skeleton.  
  
“Holy shit, baby, when was the last time you ate something?”  
  
“About half an hour ago,” Brian injects and I can very well imagine what kind of food he’s speaking of going by his self-satisfied smirk. I give him a scrutinizing once-over as he reaches for Sunshine again, his palm coming to rest on the back of the boy’s neck. Brian looks… rested. He looks like he’s finally slept a whole night. Good for him. I can’t watch him suffer; he’s had to do it for so long, he’s gotten too good at it. And Justin’s good for him. And surprising all of us, I think, it turns out he’s good for Justin too.  
  
I’m not even finished before Michael jumps forward and grabs a hold of Justin, enveloping him in a bear hug that could rival one of mine.  
  
“Welcome back,” Michael says as he releases him again and Justin just grins, only a little awkward. “We missed you, boy wonder.” I’m so proud of my son.  
  
“Thanks, it’s good to be back,” he answers.  
  
“Jeez,” Michael continues, “you gave us all a real scare, you know that? Keep it up and we’ll never run out of stories we can tell through Rage,” Michael jokes.  
  
Justin shares a look with Brian at the same time as my eyes meet Ben’s, which Michael doesn’t notice. Michael’s a good kid. He gets excited sometimes and doesn’t realize how in his enthusiasm he oversteps some boundaries at times. Like now. Justin’s not ready to share his story with the world yet and after tonight’s meal, Ben will explain it to him. Michael doesn’t mean anything bad by it; he’s got a heart of gold.  
  
The short silence is interrupted when another car pulls up in front of the house and Ted and Blake step out, followed by Emmett. They walk through the still open door and another round of greetings and hugging erupts. I usher them all further inside and close the door before I declare that I have to check on the lasagna and disappear in the kitchen again. I love cooking for my boys. Too bad Carl is working the weekend shift today; but he’ll join us later and with the exception of the girls in the cold Canadian North, the table will be complete again. Thanksgiving’s in three weeks – and today’s yet another thing we can all be thankful for.  
  
Ted’s POV  
  
“I don’t know if I should be grateful or ashamed that my friends are apparently all a bunch of losers whose lives are so boring that they’re all available at a moment’s notice on a Saturday night,” Brian jokes and I breathe a sigh in relief. It’s good to see him joke again, even if it’s at our expense. Hell, it’s good to see him behave like a human being again instead of the dead statue that I’ve been working with in the past weeks and months.  
  
“Brian!” Justin reprimands him, hitting his upper arm gently, but he can’t hide a grin himself and it’s good too because he looks like Justin again. The time when he lived here with no memory of us or himself was weird; weirder than a crystal trip weird. What was even stranger was that I could relate somehow. Not in the full extent as Justin of course, but I too had experience with being faced with things you evidently had done without having any memory of it.  
  
“So, Emmy Lou,” Brian continues and disrupts my musings, “have you moved in with those two opera freaks now?”  
  
“Pardon me?” Emmett replies, not understanding.  
  
I don’t get it either, but Blake comes to the rescue. “No, Brian. We just gave Emmett a lift since we pass his place anyway on our way there.”  
  
Oh. I suddenly realize that Brian’s self-inflicted hibernation period had left him so disconnected, that he didn’t even know that Emmett had moved to a new apartment not far off the Liberty Avenue quarter. But it is so good to see him partake in our daily life again. Even if it means having to endure his snide remarks again.  
  
Just as well, they lost their mean quality long ago. And though he was still Brian Kinney, a look from a slightly built and fair-skinned blond could shut him up and put a rueful look on his face so quickly, it was sometimes worth being around just to see it happen.  
  
We all take a seat on the various chairs and sofas in Debbie’s colorful living room. Brian and Justin sit down on the sofa with Emmett, Ben and Michael across from them in two chairs with Hunter stretched out on the floor beside them. I let my weight drop into a cushioned chair at the head of the coffee table, and Blake sitting down on the armrest close to me.  
  
There’s a short uncomfortable silence as we all gaze at one another, letting the seconds pass and transport us back to a past where we sat scattered around in this room on various other occasions. And it’s almost like the memories from former times make the uneasiness disappear. We all relax and slowly different conversations start, the group broken up into well-known clusters of two or three.  
  
Brian leans forward to better hear what Michael is telling him – something about plans to expand Red Cape Comics and Brian’s opinion on the matter. While he’s animatedly discussing the topic with his best friend, Brian’s right arm reaches back for Justin. I don’t think he notices. It’s a reflex, as is Justin’s response while he’s engaged in a completely different conversation with Emmett, both of them talking over Brian’s back between them. Justin hooks a finger with Brian’s, never breaking his attention that is fixed on Em and whatever it is they discuss.  
  
I listen in on every conversation for a few minutes, letting my eyes sweep the room again and again, enjoying the constant buzz of excited chatter, low grumbling voices, and occasional laughter. This is how it should be.  
  
Blake turns a little and smiles at me. He knows.  
  
Michael’s POV  
  
My head is spinning with ideas. I’m so glad Justin is back. Brian was only a shadow of his former self while Justin was away. I’m not conceited; I know that Brian missed him. They’re caught in this eternally complicated relationship where they are dependent on each other to feel alive. With everyone else I’d advise them to get help, see a psychologist or something like that. But it works for those two. I’m glad Brian found someone, even if it took me some time to accept that this someone was Justin.  
  
I’m glad they’re happy together. But I wouldn’t wish this kind of relationship for me, or anyone else for that matter. What they have is borderline unhealthy, too intense; it’s almost out of this world. Which makes me remember: Rage. As I said, my head is spinning with the possibilities.  
  
We haven’t had a new issue since before Justin left for New York to become a famous artist. It’s been almost half a year. People have been calling and writing and emailing, asking when the next issue would come out. It’s exhilarating to know that people like what you do; that they want more. And now that Justin is back, we can give them more.  
  
I try to catch Justin’s eyes, but he’s leant back on the couch to be able to talk with Emmett and doesn’t see me. When Brian is finished explaining the pros and cons of a possible expansion, I lean to the side to capture Justin’s attention, but his body is almost completely hidden by Brian’s and Brian is shaking his head ‘no’.  
  
“Give it time, Mikey,” he says.  
  
I look at him and there’s a strange  _something_  in his eyes; it’s dark and deep, and I know I better do what he says, so I nod.  
  
“Let him come to you,” Brian says and I nod again. I understand. Well, not really. I don’t understand what it must be like to go through all this shit that Brian and Justin had to go through. But I understand that now is not the time to talk to Justin about it.  
  
I give it a rest and feel Ben’s hand touching my knee in support. He probably heard and understood before I did. I’m just about to think how grateful I am that Justin didn’t hear this exchange, when Brian leans slightly back on the sofa and Justin’s arm reaches out to stroke his back once before it comes to rest on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. I understand this gesture too. It’s a thank you. He may not have heard, but he felt. That’s exactly what I mean: Intense.  
  
Ma comes out the kitchen, accompanied by delicious smells that make my stomach rumble and announces that dinner is ready before ordering us all to take a seat around the table. We eat and continue to talk and laugh, sharing recent gossip, making fun of some stars from TV, and being generally ourselves.  
  
That is, before Emmett’s loud gasp interrupts the chatter.  
  
Emmett’s POV  
  
I gasp and clutch a hand to my mouth, drying the first teardrops on the napkin with the other.  
  
Oh. My. God.  
  
When I got up this morning and looked out the window, the dreary grey and wet day almost managed to dampen my natural cheeriness. Then Ted called and said we were having a spontaneous celebration, having our Sunshine baby back with us. How perfect a timing! Now Brian wouldn’t have to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas alone. And I’m glad for myself too. I missed Justin. Both versions of him. He’s such a cute little thing.  
  
And now – Oh. My. God.  
  
A stray ray of sunshine finds its way through the thick clouds and into Deb’s kitchen window, and reflects right off the new, shiny, white-golden ring on Sunshine’s finger as he reached for seconds. I gasp, my eyes searching for its counterpart on Brian’s hand, which is difficult because he keeps his hand on Justin’s neck the whole time and I have to crane mine to see it, but there it is! And now I’m crying.  
  
“Em? Talk to us.” Ted.  
  
“Emmett, honey, what is it?” Deb. There’s a tumult and everyone’s talking at once, all eyes fixed on me.  
  
“Did you choke on something?” Michael. “Does anyone know how to employ the Heimlich maneuver?”  
  
“No,” I finally choke out and point towards Brian and Justin who’ve remained silent through it all.  
  
“They’re… You’re…” They share a look before turning back to me again. Brian’s hand disappears under the table and Justin moves his chair closer to his, leaning into Brian a little. “You’re married.” I can’t help it if it comes out like an accusation.  
  
“No,” Brian drawls. “We wear rings,” he clarifies.  
  
The tumult erupts again and I say, raising my voice above all others, “Yes, because you are married.”  
  
Justin grins now and Brian rolls his eyes. “We are not allowed to marry in this beautiful state of ours,” Brian feels the need to point out.  
  
“Don’t lose yourself in rhetorics, Brian Kinney,” Deb booms and stands from her chair. She reaches over the table, not caring that the frills on her blouse are drenched in marinara sauce, and grabs Brian’s arm, dragging it up. Then she gasps too. She rounds the table and grabs Brian in a tight embrace, her ‘Son of a bitch’ sounding more like ‘I’m so fucking proud of you’ than anything. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brian blush before as he accepts her praise.  
  



	28. Chapter 28

Brian almost didn’t dare fall asleep. Again. They’d returned late from Debbie’s, ending up answering a mass of questions. Brian had been prepared for that, but he didn’t expect that they would focus on the discovery that Emmett had made. He’d have thought that seeing Justin back in Pittsburgh and back to his old self would top any other news. But apparently it didn’t. Brian mentally shook his head; a bunch of romance-obsessed fags they were. Not that there was anything romantic about the way he and Justin exchanged their rings. But Brian hadn’t minded; actually, he’d been slightly relieved. It was easier recounting the story of finding the rings again than explaining how Justin ended up back in Pittsburgh and the loft. Those questions had come too, but Justin didn’t want to talk about it yet so they did their best to deflect them and direct the conversation back to the more entertaining topic. So, in order to keep their interest alive, Brian willingly told the family about the understanding that he and Justin had reached before Justin had gone to New York City to pursue a career in art. They had all ooh-ed and aah-ed at the romantic idea of waiting for a special moment to put the rings on each other’s fingers and the incentive they had created for themselves to make the wait bearable. Emmett had spilled some more tears as had Deb and they’d parted after too much cheap wine, leaving the Corvette parked outside Debbie’s house and taking a taxi to the loft.  
  
Justin had fallen into bed almost immediately, murmuring a sorry and something about eating too much Italian food and being too full. Brian didn’t really mind, but planned to tease Justin about it in the morning. The fact that he wasn’t getting a goodnight blow-job, however, wasn’t the reason why Brian couldn’t sleep. Just like the night before, he stayed awake for hours after Justin had fallen asleep, needing to reassure himself that the last twenty-four hours had really happened and were not just a figment of his imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time that his mind conjured up stories that turned out to be unreal after it recovered from too much drugs and alcohol. He was scared out of his mind that the events from the last two days could turn out as just another one of his hallucinations induced by the abuse of mind-altering substances.  
  
As if to assure himself of the reality around him, he couldn’t stop touching Justin. But he didn’t want to wake him either, so he made do with running an occasional hand through the blond, sleep mussed hair, and spent the rest of the time playing idly with the silky endings. He couldn’t decide if Justin’s hair really felt different now or if it was because he hadn’t touched it for so long. The thought still caused a painful pang in his heart and he indulged in it for a moment before letting it go. He needed to stop thinking those thoughts. Holding on to them would do nobody any good. His mind flashed involuntarily to the weeks he’d spent in the loft with the version of Justin that he didn’t recognize. He remembered how alone he felt and how helpless and how angry he’d been. It still amazed him how the simple presence of Justin could calm him and make most of the tumult in his head stop. The thoughts that refused to go away were exactly the reason why Brian felt they needed to leave the loft. The dinner outing to Debbie’s house had thrown his plans back, but he intended to leave for Britin first thing in the morning.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“Grab those two boxes, will you?” Brian asked Justin, pointing to two medium-sized cartons that he knew were not too heavy, while having both arms busy with other things.  
  
“You know, I can carry stuff that weighs more than a gallon of milk, too,” Justin said, stacking the two boxes Brian had pointed to and adding a third one on top of them.  
  
Brian rolled his eyes after making sure his back was turned to Justin. He wasn’t about to argue, knowing that after five minutes of verbal sparring, Justin would get his way anyway and he figured by remaining quiet, he could save them both those five minutes.  
  
“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Justin said, predictably, and Brian smiled.  
  
Having his arms full with several boxes and a couple of hangers from the closet, Brian could only lean over and place a kiss on Justin’s head. “Little know-it-all smartass,” Brian murmured softly.  
  
Justin grinned. “Love ya, too.”  
  
In the elevator, Justin addressed Brian, “So how are we getting all this stuff to the house? We two barely fit into the ‘Vette. Where are the boxes supposed to go if—” He suddenly stopped. “Fuck, Brian. We left the car at Debbie’s. We don’t even have the ‘Vette.”  
  
“O ye of little faith.” Brian sighed deeply and stepped out of the elevator when the doors opened. But instead of walking out the main entrance of the building, he made his way out the back, towards the underground parking lot. He’d stopped parking there years ago, but still had a spot reserved that he’d recently filled up again.  
  
“Brian?” Justin asked in confusion, but followed the brunet.  
  
Brian glanced back, making sure that Justin was okay. He was always a little unsure when it came to Justin and his reaction to underground parking garages. But maybe he was projecting, because there were big question marks written in Justin’s eyes, but as far as Brian could see no fear and no panic, so he continued to walk, heading determinedly towards a certain spot, until he came to a stop in front of a black Jeep Cherokee.  
  
“What’s this?” Justin asked somewhat dumbly, glancing back and forth between Brian and the shiny new car.  
  
“A car.” Brian received a frustrated groan from Justin in response.  
  
“I can see that,” the younger man explained. “Is it yours?”  
  
“You think I’m about to steal it?” Brian asked instead of a reply.  
  
“It looks new. Since when have you had it?”  
  
Brian shrugged. “A month or two.”  
  
Justin nodded in thought, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Is this becoming a habit?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You buying cars whenever I’m gone?”  
  
“Is you disappearing for months on time becoming a habit?” Brian replied with a counter question.  
  
“Why? You trying to figure out whether you’ll need a bigger garage soon?” Justin joked but Brian didn’t think it funny. “Oh, come on, Brian. It was a joke. Lighten up. I’m not leaving. You can have that in writing, if you want. I just think it’s terribly cute – your boyfriend replacement therapy,” Justin teased Brian.  
  
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Brian said, but couldn’t help a smirk appearing on his face, too. He tried to distract from it by putting down his cargo and opening the car to load the boxes inside.  
  
“I’m not. I’m just stating facts,” Justin said and passed Brian one of the boxes.  
  
“I needed something bigger. Sometimes the ‘Vette can be a little unpractical,” Brian admitted begrudgingly.  
  
“Yeah. Made fucking in the car impossible,” Justin huffed, reminiscent of the eternal argument between the two of them.  
  
“True. But, surprisingly, that was not the reason why I bought a new car.”  
  
“What was?”  
  
“Driving a vintage Corvette thirty miles through the snow can be a little… challenging,” Brian defended himself. When Justin didn’t seem too convinced, he added, “Plus, a few weeks ago Lindsay suggested that Gus could spend a week or two here next summer.”  
  
“Wow. That’s great… and awfully nice of her. Can’t believe Melanie agreed to that.”  
  
“Yeah, she probably only agreed to it out of pity for me anyway.” Justin didn’t ask. He knew why Lindsay may have thought that Brian needed a distraction. “Let’s wait and see how they’ll react once they realize I don’t need their pittance anymore.”  
  
“But what if it wasn’t just pity?” Justin asked. “What if she really wants you to have a relationship with Gus? I don’t think she’s going to take back the offer.”  
  
“Maybe she won’t. Maybe she will.” Brian shrugged, hoping for a change of topic. But of course Justin wouldn’t let go so easily.  
  
“So what if she doesn’t? Are you going to take her up on it? Have you told her that you want him here?” Justin didn’t doubt for a second that that was what Brian wanted.  
  
“Not yet,” Brian paused and then decided to be honest, “but I’m going to. Even though I have no idea how to be a full-time dad.”  
  
Justin saw the uncertainty on Brian’s face. “You’re a good father, Brian,” he tried to reassure his partner.  
  
“I’m okay,” Brian countered. There was no bitterness or sarcasm in his voice, just pure and honest realism. “There are worse. But there are better too.”  
  
Justin didn’t reply. There was nothing he could have said. The only thing that would change Brian’s mind was to wait and see how he managed once he was actually left alone with his son. But Justin was confident that having Gus over for two whole weeks would improve Brian’s self-esteem on that matter. Summer was still more than half a year away – enough time to pick one of the guestrooms and set it up so it would meet the needs of an almost six year old.  
  
They finished loading the boxes into the rear hatch and went upstairs again to get the rest.  
  
“I can’t believe you bought another jeep,” Justin mused on the elevator ride back to the top floor.  
  
“A Jeep’s a classic car,” Brian defended his choice.  
  
“You said that about the Corvette too,” Justin reminded him.  
  
Brian rolled his eyes at the apparent lack of understanding of the matter. “Another kind of classic. The ‘Vette’s vintage flair is irrefutable. Whereas a jeep is always a safe bet in the sense of you can’t go wrong with it style-wise.”  
  
Justin listened carefully, nodding his head with grave importance and with a too solemn expression on his face to be taken seriously. Brian looked at him and thought that he was only missing glasses perched at the tip of his nose and a finger pressed to his chin to complete the picture of a nutty British detective in checkered tweed. He pushed playfully at his shoulder, laughing at the blond’s expression and the easiness with which he saw through to his ulterior motives.  
  
Justin laughed and said, “Just admit already that you missed me so much, you needed to recapture our time together by buying a car that we both held in fond memory.”  
  
“It’s not the same model,” Brian argued. “It’s bigger. There’s more room for… luggage.”  
  
Justin rammed an elbow playfully in Brian’s stomach. “Just admit it.”  
  
“I thought I already had,” Brian replied, the playfulness gone from his voice.  
  
Justin didn’t answer anything in reply. Instead, he leaned backwards against Brian’s chest, trusting that the older man would hold him up.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Nearing the house, Brian involuntarily became more nervous by the minute. He chastised himself for being ridiculous – what was there to be nervous about? – but he couldn’t help tapping his left foot in a newly acquired, nervous habit. He wished he was driving the corvette; the need to shift gears would have at least kept his limbs a little busier and his mind a little more occupied. The first half of the road Justin said nothing and only glanced at Brian every now and then. Eventually though, he reached over and laid an open palm across Brian’s hand that was resting on the center console. Brian hadn’t realized that he’d been tapping his fingers as well.  
  
“What are you so nervous about?” Justin asked gently.  
  
“I’m not nervous,” Brian tried to deflect, knowing perfectly well that the lie would be obvious even to a blind and deaf person.  
  
“Yeah,” Justin mocked, “you’re a picture of relaxed recreation.” Justin thought he saw Brian’s lips turn up in a slight smile. And though he couldn’t be sure whether it was an actual smile or just another nervous twitch, he decided to go with the first and take Brian’s willingness to accept jokes as a good sign. When after a while it became apparent that Brian wasn’t going to respond with words, Justin prompted again, “So?”  
  
Brian pursed his lips and threw a quick glance towards Justin. Hastily turning his eyes back to the road, thankful for an excuse to not have to look his companion in the eye, he answered, “This is, of course, just an unproven hypothesis, but there may be a slim possibility that perchance I may show an insignificant amount of apprehensive energy at the thought of you seeing the house again.” Justin bit his lip not to laugh out loudly at Brian’s masterful diversion tactics, which Brian decided to ignore completely and move on with his explanation. “I may also be a little concerned about the idea that you might enter the house and are not going to like it.”  
  
“I’ve seen the house before, Brian. Unless you let Debbie redecorate it during my absence, I don’t think that possibility is a very rational one.”  
  
Brian slowed down a little and allowed himself a moment to look into Justin’s eyes which were still turned on him. The blue orbs gazed at him openly and sanguine. Brian became serious again. He abandoned the mockingly introspective tone from before. After a moment’s silence, Brian ventured to explain his misgivings in a way that would help Justin understand. But he was careful to phrase his explanation in a way that Justin wouldn’t feel pressured to express enthusiasm in case it turned out that he hated what the house had become, “You’ve seen  _a_  house, Justin. You haven’t seen  _the_  house. You haven’t seen it fully furnished yet and you may think I’m a total nutcase, but it really feels different now than it did before.”  
  
“How?”  
  
Brian took a deep breath while considering his answer and let it out audibly. He wasn’t even sure there was a way to explain this with words but he tried. “The house, it’s  _there_ … It’s a little intimidating because it’s so big and… remote… and—” Brian knew he wasn’t getting his point across; he also knew he was babbling which didn’t make the whole situation easier. But what he meant to express was that the house, in the short time that he’d had it and the even shorter period of time that he’d lived in it, had become such a fixed presence in his life, he couldn’t imagine life without it anymore. Calling the house his, or rather theirs, had an effect on him that he’d had no possible way of anticipating before. He just hoped Justin would understand and feel the same way. Brian was busy keeping his mind occupied in order to prevent it from considering what was going to happen if the opposite turned out to be the case. “It was a house before. It’s Britin now.” With that last attempt at an explanation, Brian parked the car close to the main entrance, keeping in mind that they had some boxes to unload. When he turned to look at Justin, he noticed that, instead of looking at the house, Justin was watching him.  
  
“What?” Brian asked, his gut clenching with nervousness and anticipation.  
  
Justin reached over and laid a palm on Brian’s cheek. He shook his head and answered, “Nothing.” This uncertain and tentative side of Brian was new to him, but Justin thought he understood where it was coming from, even though it seemed that Brian himself didn’t.  
  
Every single thing that Brian felt, he felt deep. He always gave one hundred percent and emotions were no exception. Brian never did things half-way; it was always all or nothing with him. Sometimes, he liked to stage a big drama in which he pulled the strings, like he’d done on Michael’s thirtieth birthday. But when it came to things that touched him deep, Brian felt like a fish out of water. His love was quiet. Brian would never be the person who openly showed affection, other than the physical kind. He’d never leave little I love you notes in Justin’s lunch box; he’d never write cheesy lovesongs or scatter rose petals on their bed, and he’d never want to drown a room in a sea of candles to prove something that neither of them needed evidence for. And Justin would never want him to. Brian’s love would never be garish. It didn’t need to be celebrated like that and it didn’t depend on an audience. It was exclusive. And Justin liked it just the way it was because he had the only set of keys to the updated version of the big scary book that was Brian A. Kinney. Even if it meant having to read between the lines and having to pay attention to deeds more than words, and maybe even be wrong occasionally. Justin didn’t want it any other way. He wouldn’t want them to become boring or conventional or, even worse, unoriginal. They were getting a hang of the communication thing; were getting there more every day. It was just a matter of time, Justin figured. Time would make sure that Brian found his confidence when it came to their relationship, or to voicing his feelings about their relationship and in general. Yes, Justin definitely could see progress already. But all of it was still new territory for Brian, which made it new territory for Justin too. But, Justin chuckled, he was slightly better equipped when it came to dealing with everything that concerned the emotional and communicative side of their relationship than Brian was. Entering unexplored terrain didn’t have the same unsettling effect on Justin as apparently it had on Brian.  
  
Justin smiled. They weren’t in a hurry. Leaning in over the middle console and sharing a breath, Justin waited till Brian responded and their lips met in the middle. Brian’s kiss was tentative at first, but quickly gained in intensity as his tongue pushed past Justin’s lips. Justin let himself enjoy the kiss for a moment, before pulling back. “Give me a tour?”  
  
Deciding to leave the boxes in the car for now, Brian nodded and got out of the car, Justin followed behind, both men breathing heavily. Justin had always excelled in the discipline of making Brian forget his own name. And it was no different now. But as they emerged from the car and walked the short pebbled way to the door, the nervousness returned full force and made him fumble with the lock and the keys a little.   
  
Brian finally managed to open the door of the main entrance and stood aside, letting Justin enter, his mind quickly flashing back on two other times when he’d done that before – one with a more than satisfying result, another quite the opposite. Which one would it be now?  
  
Justin’s mind did a flashback as well. He remembered the time when Brian had brought him here in hopes the house would help him remember. The disappointment over the failed attempt was threatening to pull him back and cloud his judgment of today’s plans, but he made a conscious effort to push the thoughts away. And once he stepped over the threshold, it got easier too. In fact, he would have found it very difficult to concentrate on anything other than the house, had he even felt the impulse to do so. As it was, he could only stare in amazed wonderment, mind wiped completely blank; but this time, in a good way.  
  
The house looked nothing like he remembered and everything like he imagined, and more. A short, breathy laugh broke free from his lips, followed by real laughter. That moment, when the tension flooded out of him through relieved glee, he knew that he’d been under stress as well though he hadn’t realized it. Brian looked at him, bewildered at first at the unexpected reaction, but the sparkling in Justin’s eyes told him all he needed to know, and he joined in.  
  
Turning in a circle again and again, Justin’s eyes hungrily took in every sight and every detail. “It’s unbelievable, Brian,” he breathed in awe.  
  
And it truly was. The entrance hallway and what he could see beyond it was barely recognizable. Where it had been dark and imposing stained sandalwood before, it was now flooded with light, reflected off of sandy beige walls and pearly white granite floors. On the far right side, the heavy walnut wood staircase had given way to modern and light marble stairs that seemed to float in midair. The whole layout and design was a masterful combination of modern architecture and original elements that they’d kept as well as tasteful touches of bold, but warm colors. Some walls had been taken out to give the rooms an open and welcoming feeling and as Justin walked from one chamber to the next, he saw that every one of his descriptions, shared through phone or emails, had come to life. He was stunned into silence at how perfectly his ideas and things he had gushed to Brian about had been transformed into reality. Back then, he hadn’t been sure half of the time, if Brian was even listening at all. And as he stood there now, he realized that not only had Brian listened very well, but he also must have been taking notes. How else could it be explained that Justin’s sometimes wayward descriptions of color hues (“You know that tone that Deb’s vein on the temple turns when she’s really pissed off at someone. Wouldn’t that be perfect for the guestroom?” Or: “Remember that faded greyish yellow of those smoke rings you blew when we did this Brando marathon and we were both smoking one joint after the next just to remain stoned because it was the only thing that kept your nausea at bay after a radiation treatment?” And: “That pink tone, of those drinks that Emmett likes so much; you know which one I mean? That’s exactly the one I don’t want. It should be something in the direction of Daph’s dress from our engagement dinner, but not the one when she stood under a light bulb, but when she stood in the shadows.”) had been matched by Brian’s choice exactly to the point.  
  
Justin wandered back and forth and let his fingertip touch every available surface, sitting down on a chair or sofa occasionally to test its firmness. Each detail that he saw made the smile on his face bigger and wider. Upon entering the spacious living room, he laughed out loud again. The sofa that he had to beg Brian to buy and the light fixtures that Brian had insisted upon – they all merged together harmoniously despite their contrasts. The room, just like the rest of the house, was the solidified embodiment of a reflection on him and Brian. Though, technically, he hadn’t been inside this finished house before, every room already reflected bits and pieces of the both of them; every room already contained memories of their life together. Memories of fights, arguments and agreements on color, design, price, size, and designer brand, and Justin felt such a powerful surge of home sickness for this place, he didn’t think he’d ever want to leave or be able to live somewhere else again. Luckily, he didn’t have to.  
  
Allowing Justin some time to walk around on his own and stroll the floors at his own leisure, Brian went outside to retrieve their things. He’d only managed two trips before Justin joined him. Together they unloaded the rest.  
  
Later, after they finished bringing their bags and boxes inside and unpacking them – which took not nearly as long than packing them had – they met in the kitchen for a light snack. When Justin’s rumbling stomach announced his presence, Brian was glad that Justin had made him stop at an ‘open 24/7’ supermarket to get a few things they needed to prepare sandwiches. Justin sat on the breakfast counter, his feet dangling above the ground, and munched on a turkey and ham sandwich. He appeared deep in thought. Suddenly, he smiled and looked at Brian who sat at the table and lazily leafed through the Sunday paper and picked through his disassembled sandwich. “I get it now,” Justin said.  
  
Brian looked up. He hadn’t really been reading, just scanning the headlines. “What do you get?”  
  
“What you said about the house being this enormous presence,” Justin explained. “I get it now. Before, it was just a house. Now it’s a home.” He laughed suddenly. “Did it sound lesbian to you too?” he asked between giggles. After they died down a little, he became serious and finished his thought, “I just meant that I get why you think that it can be intimidating. But it’s really not. It’s because this house is about the two of us and no one else. And it’s already filled with memories of us. It’s like… all those memories – they have a place now.”  
  
Brian remained quiet, not knowing what to say to that. Justin was partly right. The house could be intimidating because it was the epitome of how far they’ve come as a couple. But there was this other aspect that Justin didn’t know about – couldn’t know about, because he had no experience of fighting against the inner feelings of love and affection and sometimes even against the need for another person. Because Justin was the kind of person who just accepted those wants and needs in his life with all the implications that they represented. He was a brave little fucker like that. But this was not something that came easy to Brian, if there ever was an understatement! And that was this other thing that had made the house so intimidating for Brian in the first few weeks: that it not only represented him and Justin, but how much of his life was not his alone anymore, and especially that he bit by bit allowed himself to not be scared of it any longer. He could admit to himself now that he wanted all those things – no matter how dickless a fag it made him.  
  
He got up to get himself a bottle of water from the freshly stocked fridge. Passing Justin on his way, he briefly threaded his fingers through the blond hair in a barely conscious gesture.  
  



	29. Chapter 29

Justin awoke in the middle of the night because he was cold. He scrambled for the covers that lay bunched up at the foot of the bed and pulled them over himself. Not getting warm enough fast enough, he decided to cuddle up to Brian and steal some of his body warmth. When he turned to face Brian’s side, he noticed that his partner wasn’t even in the bed with him. Pulling the blankets tighter around himself, he got up and cringed as his feet hit the icy cold floors. Making a mental note to fire up the heating, he went in search of Brian.  
  
Justin found him in the far back of the corridor on the top floor, sipping slowly on a glass of what Justin suspected was JB, clad only in a pair of worn knee-length sweat pants – they were Justin’s favorite because they rode low and accentuated Brian’s ass. Brian stood in the door of Justin’s studio, leaning against the doorjamb with one bared shoulder, his posture suggesting he was far away with his thoughts. Justin twisted and wriggled a little until he found a gap in the sheet that was wrapped around his body and laid a hand on Brian’s naked back, between his shoulder blades.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Justin asked, voice still husky with sleep.  
  
“Thinking,” Brian answered.  
  
Justin almost rolled his eyes. Mr. Obvious. “About what?”  
  
“The campaign the new ad exec will be pitching tomorrow to Remson. The phone call I got from Deb wondering where we’ve disappeared to. The raise I’m going to give Ted. The present I need to buy for Gus. Nothing. Everything.”  
  
Justin stepped around Brian and leaned his back against the door jamb opposite from Brian. Brian turned slightly so they were facing each other. Justin reached for the glass Brian was playing with and downed the remnants of JB that tasted watered down by melted ice cubes.  
  
“Why?” Justin asked.  
  
Brian shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”  
  
“I know. You haven’t been sleeping through a full night since you came to New York to bring me back.” Brian pulled up a curious eyebrow at that. He didn’t think Justin had noticed his insomnia, but of course nothing went by the blond. Justin continued, “I meant, why are you thinking about all this everyday bullshit stuff in the middle of the night?”  
  
“What else am I supposed to think about?”  
  
“You could think about why you’re not sleeping,” Justin suggested.  
  
“I don’t know why I can’t sleep,” Brian answered.  
  
“Maybe you should talk to someone about it. See a specialist?” Justin asked tentatively.  
  
“I did see one.”  
  
“You did?” Justin asked surprised. “When?”  
  
“After you were released from the hospital.”  
  
“But you’ve been around me 24/7.”  
  
“Not this time. The last time.”  
  
Justin’s lips formed an ‘oh’ but no sound escaped. They both paused, Brian waiting for Justin to say something – for any reaction at all.  
  
“When you say you saw a specialist, do you mean you fucked one or did you actually talk to one?” Justin eventually asked.  
  
Brian had to smirk at the question. Not that it wasn’t justified. “He diagnosed me with enough disorders to merit my own classification in the diagnostics manual. But he also said that I’m a well-adjusted and highly functional asshole. His words, not mine.”  
  
Justin wore an expression on his face that reflected how impressed he was with the news. “So you actually  _talked_  to him? Wow. I didn’t know.”  
  
“I didn’t want you to know then,” Brian replied. And in the sense of full disclosure, he added, “And I did fuck him eventually. At the baths. Those bastards never do any work pro bono.”  
  
Justin nodded in amused understanding before turning serious again. “Did he help you then?”  
  
“Told you I fucked him,” Brian replied.  
  
Justin released a slightly frustrated sigh. “I don’t mean with your hard-on.”  
  
Brian shrugged again dismissively. “He gave me some advice. But—”  
  
“What?”  
  
Before Brian answered he shook his head as if to clear his mind. “He gave me some advice,” Brian repeated, “I tried to do as he said. It didn’t help. Not his fault.”  
  
Again Justin nodded in understanding. No, he didn’t have any illusions about following a psychologist’s orders. When it came to real life, Justin had found them not particularly helpful. But it was still worth a try. “How about now?” Justin asked. “Why don’t you go and see him again?”  
  
“Don’t you think it would be inappropriate considering we’re about to get tested so we can do it raw?” Brian tried to joke.  
  
But Justin wouldn’t be deterred. He brought the topic back to where they were with a silent stare. Brian relented. “Because I sometimes have troubles falling asleep?” Brian made a face. He wasn’t a real insomniac; he wasn’t sleepwalking. No reason to go seek help just because sleep didn’t come immediately. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.  
  
“You’ve been through a traumatic experience. Why don’t you talk to him about that?” Justin suggested.  
  
“No,” Brian clarified, “ _you_ ’ve been through a traumatic experience. I just stood there and watched it happen.” The last part was added with a bitterness that was barely detectable but which Justin heard nevertheless.  
  
“Brian,” Justin kept his voice low. He needed to say this and hoped Brian wouldn’t bite his head off for it. “You’re not the kind of person who escapes unaffected. It may have happened to me, but it affected us both. You’re never just the passive spectator, whether it’s me or Mikey or someone else who gets hurt or wronged. You never stand aside and just watch. You may not literally hold their hand, but you walk the same road with them figuratively. You wade knee deep the same misery; just from some distance, so they can’t see you but close enough that you can still keep an eye on them. To make sure they make it into the safe harbor in one piece. That’s how you operate. And you were  _not_  unaffected by everything that happened,” Justin stressed the last part.  
  
After Justin finished, the silence around them became unbearable, the clock ticking from the adjoining room much too loud. Justin didn’t dare say anything more and just waited, suddenly feeling too hot under his panoply of blankets.  
  
Eventually, Brian broke the silence. “I’m not going to talk to a specialist.” He knew he was being stubborn, but he’d seen the inside of too many psychologists’ offices already to feel comfortable there. The thought of letting some stranger inside and allowing him to deconstruct the building blocks of his inner being seemed too abnormal to Brian to consider. The first step was always admitting that there was a problem. Well, he’d already done that. He’d manage the rest on his own as well.  
  
Justin nodded. He’d expected this reply. Not only because he knew Brian, but also because he knew he’d been right when he said that Brian hadn’t escaped unaffected. They both quickly became testy when the subject touched upon professional psychological help. Justin simply couldn’t see Brian lying down on a couch, waxing poetic about his life and his past. But maybe Brian didn’t have to go so far for help. “Then talk to me?” Justin suggested, voice soft.  
  
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”  
  
“Do you have nightmares when you sleep? Is that why you wouldn’t fall asleep?” He asked and wondered if he’d missed something.  
  
Brian shook his head. No, he was not having nightmares. Actually, whenever he did fall asleep, he slept like a baby, feeling refreshed and rested the next morning.  
  
“Are you…” Justin paused, needing to pull all his courage together before finishing the question. “Are you unhappy?”  
  
Brian’s eyes shot up. “No.” After a second, he added, “Quite the opposite, Sunshine.”  
  
“Because, you know, it’s only been a weekend. If it’s all going too fast, we can—” Justin continued, seemingly ignoring Brian’s statement.  
  
“Stop it!” Brian had to interrupt. Justin often did this – talking like a machine gun, until he maneuvered himself into an idea that was completely ridiculous, but which Justin believed to be true. Brian needed to prevent him from doing it now.  
  
Justin deflated. “Then what is it?” he asked, frustration in the face of helplessness coloring his voice. “Don’t you like to be happy?” He’d added this as a semi-serious statement, but Justin froze suddenly and fixed Brian with a piercing stare. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re so used to being miserable, you feel restless when you are actually and truly happy.”  
  
Brian shook his head no. “I don’t trust the calm,” he whispered quietly.  
  
For a moment Justin was stunned and couldn’t respond at all. “What?” Justin tried to reign in his emotions that ranged from anger and sadness to disbelief and astonishment. “You don’t trust that I’m gonna stay?” He tried very hard not to feel hurt but every emotion showed on his face.  
  
“No,” Brian said again, shaking his head. “I don’t trust the… universe. I don’t trust reality. What if it’s all just a fucking dream?” Brian vocalized his fears for the first time.  
  
“Me being back? Us being together?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Want me to pinch you?”  
  
Brian ignored Justin’s attempt at a joke. “What if it’s just another dream. I don’t wanna go to sleep and wake up and find that it was all just a dream. That I’m still at the loft, and alone, and you’re still gone. Those dreams—”  
  
“It’s not,” Justin assured him. “It’s not just a dream.” He took a step and let his upper body lean against Brian’s, nuzzling his face into Brian’s neck curve. “But if you wake up and find that it was just a dream after all, then you’ll do exactly what you did: Go to New York and bring me back. I know I’m gonna be very grateful for it,” Justin tried to lighten the mood again.  
  
“I-I meant…,” Brian stuttered, “I meant… what if you are still gone.”  
  
Justin understood. When Brian said gone, he didn’t mean gone to New York. Not affected my ass. Justin idly wondered if he ever came across anyone who needed therapy more desperately than Brian. He also wished he’d taken more Psych courses while he still was in college. Or any at all. Did PIFA even offer Psychology 101? He shook his head, dislodging the straying thoughts. Coming back to the topic at hand, he tried to make Brian see their joint reality, “But I’m here. I’m right here.”  
  
Brian nodded, his chin tickled by Justin’s hair. Brian combed his fingers through the strands and pulled gently, prying Justin’s face from his neck. He looked Justin in the eye and said, “I was coming for you. Before I even knew that you remembered again. I was coming to get you.”  
  
“You were?” Justin asked, not quite believing what he heard. The memories from the amnesia period and the both of them in the loft still present in his mind. He remembered too well how miserable Brian had been. It still caused a shiver to run down his spine knowing that it was because Brian had missed him so much. Before, when he was still a teenager, Justin had often wished and prayed that Brian would fall in love with him. He had no idea then how hard Brian could fall; had no idea how much pain the impact could cause. He clasped Brian tighter, wanting to wrap himself around the taller frame like a safety cushion so Brian would never run against a sharp edge again.  
  
“I would have stayed with you,” Brian explained. “I would have stayed whether you were you or the new you – didn’t matter. I was going to stay.”  
  
“Why?” Justin wasn’t sure what difference the answer would make; couldn’t imagine what he expected to gain from it since they were discussing things that, thankfully, were only hypothetical now.  
  
Brian had to think it over. He wanted to be honest. “I loved you. The old you. You were still my responsibility. Whether it was love for the old you or obligation for the new one, I would have stayed.”  
  
Justin furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure I would have wanted you to stay out of obligation. I’d like to think that you would try to be happy. And if it meant to be happy with someone else…” Justin’s voice trailed away.  
  
“Are you giving me permission to cheat?”  
  
“No! Asshole,” Justin laughed. “No. I’ll be honest: The thought of you being in love with somebody else causes me pain; actual physical pain. But if I was gone, if I were not there anymore – one way or another – I would want you to be happy. I’ll always want you to be happy.”  
  
“Well, then you’ll be glad to know that I am. Unless you’re planning on continuing this conversation. In which case I have to inform you that my happiness is exponentially decreasing by the second.”  
  
Justin laughed heartily. Yes, this was Brian in all his emotionally stunted glory. Justin leaned his full weight against Brian and sighed happily when Brian’s arms came around him automatically. He loved this. This easiness between them, even after a difficult talk. Not having to hold back, to be able to joke and tease each other, to know that anytime he could speak his mind and not be afraid of the consequences, like Brian queening out and pushing him away or orchestrating a scene that would make him want to leave. This right now, as generic and hetero as it sounded, was exactly what Justin had wanted all along. Not some promise of undying love or lifelong commitment – though, he admitted, having that felt damn nice also – no, he’d wanted this: to be with Brian and to have Brian want to be with him as well instead of running away scared at the implications.  
  
The newly acquired confidence prompted him to ask the next question.  
  
“Brian, why are you standing here of all places?” Justin nodded towards the middle of the room with his chin.  
  
Brian followed his gaze, eyes lingering on the easel in the middle of the room, then sweeping down to unused canvas, already stretched over wooden frame and ready to be painted on. “I guess because this room is solely yours.”  
  
Justin creased his forehead, not understanding. Brian couldn’t see his face, but could literally feel the question marks in the suddenly tense shoulders. “Explain,” Justin asked quietly.  
  
“Every other room in this house is ours. The house is ours. Except this studio. This studio is all you. Helps me concentrate. Brings the important things into focus and blends out the less significant stuff.”  
  
“I’ve never painted here,” Justin reminded him.  
  
“You will,” Brian replied confidently.  
  
“Uhm, I know we’ve avoided the talk so far, mostly because we’ve been busy with other things but, Brian, I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t want to go back to New York, so obviously becoming a famous artist is out of the question. Honestly, I haven’t thought far beyond that point.” Justin started fidgeting, trying to disentangle himself from Brian’s hold, but the older man wrapped his arms even tighter around him until Justin quieted down again.  
  
Brian tucked the blond head under his chin again and addressed Justin’s concerns, “You don’t have to figure it out right now. In fact, you shouldn’t. Wait for it, it’ll come to you. There’s no hurry.”  
  
“But you’re sure I’m going to paint again?” Justin asked, wanting to know if Brian had any expectations hinging on the fact of him being an artist.  
  
“I’m sure of it.”  
  
“Why? How?”  
  
“You sketched me during breakfast,” Brian answered.  
  
Justin thought back, trying to remember. He wasn’t aware that he had done a drawing since he’d come back. Then it struck him. “The stick figure I drew while you were preparing an egg white omelet? The one that I drew with a ball pen? On a napkin? That ain’t exactly art, you know. Every art critic will tell you so. And the ones in New York City will especially enjoy enlightening you.”  
  
“They don’t know shit. What counts is this: You drew me. Not consciously, but out of a reflex or something. You haven’t done that since… since before. You’re an artist, Justin. Doesn’t matter if you use your art to make a living or not. You’re an artist. And this is your studio.”  
  
Justin smiled. He pushed back slightly and tilted his head to reach Brian’s neck. He pressed his lips right to his pulse point before drawing back again and resuming the position from before.  
  
“Let’s go back to bed?” Brian asked after a while of just standing there, sharing their bodies’ warmth.  
  
“You think you can sleep now?” Justin asked.  
  
“I will.” Brian grinned. “Eventually.”  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“Mr. Kinney, good morning. It’s nice to see you again,” the doctor’s assistant smiled in a way that told Justin that at least on one of the past visits to his doctor, Brian and this guy had played a doctor’s game of their very own, allowing the assistant to get acquainted with Brian’s physiology in a more personal manner. Justin looked the guy up and down and checked his name tag – Clark. Well-built, dark blond, smoky grey eyes and an enticing smile. He was hot. Brian definitely would have fucked him. By the way that Clark was checking out Brian and throwing surreptitious glances his way, Justin could tell that Clark wouldn’t protest when offered a repeat performance. He was however making an effort to maintain a professional appearance and Justin gave him credit for that. Plus, if Brian still frequented this doctor, they must be competent.  
  
“It’s too early for your annual check-up, so I gather it will be the usual today?” Clark asked, directing the question at Brian, but giving Justin a polite smile and nod as well.  
  
Brian pursed his lips and, glancing down to Justin on his side, said, “Actually, Clark, the quick test is not gonna cut it this time. We’ll both need a full work-up.”  
  
Another glance of Brian’s towards his companion told Clark everything that he needed or wanted to know. If he hadn’t been bound by the doctor-patient confidentiality, this bit of information would have made a rather interesting piece of gossip on Liberty Avenue this evening, and many more evenings to come. Alas, Clark was proud to say he’d never betrayed a patient’s trust so far and he wasn’t about to start. Instead, he silently bid farewell to any hope that he’d harbored for his favorite patient for good.  
  
“Alright. Then may I suggest doing the HIV quick test and while we wait for the results of those I can draw some blood from both of you for another HIV antibody test. We’ll also test your blood for common STDs such as syphilis, chlamydia and gonorrhea, if you want to be sure.”  
  
“We want to be sure,” Brian injected.  
  
Clark nodded. “Then I need to tell you that it can take three to five days till the results are in, because we’ll have to send out the blood samples to an external lab.”  
  
Brian nodded his agreement. “Make it three rather than five.” He rolled up his sleeve while Clark got his supplies. The doctor’s assistant went about his work with a practiced routine while informing his patients of the reliability of the test results, window periods, and various testing methods. Nothing of it was new to either of them, but both listened with keen interest, occasionally glancing at each other, the seriousness of the situation finally settling in.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“More waiting,” Justin stated the obvious, breaking the silence that had descended upon them after leaving the doctor’s office. They were in the elevator, on their way down to the underground parking garage.  
  
Justin’s statement made Brian look up from the lit up numbers above the elevator’s doors that indicated what floor they were currently passing. “We’ve waited for so long. What’s three days more?” Brian said and looked at Justin.  
  
For a moment, while in the doctor’s office, he’d really gotten cold feet and his old ego resurfaced for a moment, sneering at him. But a flash back to a time where he lived his life without Justin by his side quickly shut him up. Other doubts lingered longer. When the assistant explained to them the reliability of the test and the admittedly miniscule but nevertheless existent residual risk factor that could never be eliminated completely, Brian had wondered whether what he and Justin were planning on doing was a wise decision. But it only took him one look at Justin’s face to know that it was the right step to take. They’d both been abstinent for way more than the required three months and they both knew that they didn’t need or want anyone else besides each other. But what was more important, Brian knew that he could trust Justin and himself to be honest with each other and to tell the other should they ever fuck up and hook up with a third party again. The whole idea may have started out a semi-serious suggestion on Brian’s part; a way to ensure that the blond would be coming back to him after the New York adventure, but he’d had more than enough time since then to think this decision over. He didn’t need that kind of validation anymore, nor did he want it for that sole reason. One thing he knew for sure was that he’d never want to make that commitment with anyone but Justin. They were in a different place now than back when the idea had first come up. They were in a better place now. It was not part of a game anymore, but a very conscious decision on both their parts. Despite the constraints that the choice entailed, it felt right. That was the only thing that truly mattered, Brian decided.  
  
Justin noticed Brian’s thoughts drifting away and brought him back with an attempt at a joke, “So, do you have anything else that needs to be packed and shipped somewhere?” At Brian’s confused stare, he explained, “Or what do you suggest we keep ourselves busy with while we’re waiting for the results to come in? I mean, you’ve got Kinnetik to keep you occupied. But what the hell am I going to do?” He paused before asking again, in a slightly hushed voice this time, “Brian, what am I going to do?”  
  
Brian knew that the topic had somehow veered off their plans for the next three to five days and they were now in the middle of Justin’s plans for his future and career. Brian expected it to come up again ever since they mentioned it in passing the night before.  
  
Just like last night, Brian reminded him that there was no hurry. “Do you want or need to make this decision today? Or even this week?” He asked Justin. Brian could have supplied Justin with several suggestions as to where to take his talent next. But none of them would be something that they hadn’t talked about already at some point in the past. Besides, Brian didn’t want Justin to make a decision out of desperation. The way he saw it, Justin still had lots and lots of time to figure out what he really wanted out of his life. Brian also mentally swore that he was done getting actively involved in Justin’s decision making process. That was a promise that he had made to himself after figuring out that his pushing Justin to go to New York wasn’t what he’d really wanted – not for Justin, nor for himself. He was determined to accept any decision Justin would make, but he wouldn’t push him anymore in any direction he thought best for him.  
  
The only problem remained that Justin was putting himself under too much pressure to come to a decision soon. A sudden idea struck Brian, one that would keep them both distracted for a short while; maybe long enough to clear Justin’s head and provide him with some needed space to be able to look at the situation from a more objective, detached vantage point. “Let’s go see Gus,” Brian said, voice perking up at his own suggestion. The more he thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea and he was quickly getting excited by it.  
  
“I thought we’d already decided on that. We said we are going to see him soon,” Justin reminded him of a talk from the weekend.  
  
“No, I mean let’s go see him  _now_!”  
  
Justin looked at Brian skeptically. The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the grey concrete area of the underground parking lot. They walked towards their parking space when Justin said, “Can you just leave Kinnetik like this?”  
  
Brian waved the objection aside. “I’ve been working like a maniac the past few months. I already have the major campaign strategies worked out for several of the upcoming holidays. Taking a few days off will make my employees breathe a lot easier.”  
  
Justin shook his head. He knew too well how Brian’s bad mood could affect the working environment. Yet, he had another objection to make. “Don’t you think a spontaneous visit is something you need to clear with Lindsay first?”  
  
They arrived at the car and Brian pushed a button on the remote control to release the car door locks. But instead of getting in Brian stood looking at Justin over the car’s roof. “Nah. She’s been pestering me for months to ‘come see my son’,” Brian’s voice rose at the last part, imitating Lindsay’s higher pitch.  
  
“Why haven’t you?” Justin asked. “I’m sure Gus misses you.”  
  
Brian shrugged uncomfortably and opened his door to get in. Justin suspected he just didn’t want to meet his eyes when he said the next part. “Whenever I talk to him on the phone, he always asks for both,  _Daddy and Jussin_.” Brian didn’t explain further.  
  
“You could have gone alone, explained to him that I couldn’t make it,” Justin said over the sound of the starting engine.  
  
Brian shook his head and backed up out of the parking spot. “Would have been too final.” He adapted a bored-annoyed tone, “Lindsay would have thought so. And then the pitying looks would have followed, and Mel’s variations of ‘I told you so’s and me wanting to wring both their necks. It was better this way.”  
  
Justin listened, but didn’t reply. Brian was partly right – Lindsay would have acted like a mother hen and made the stay unbearable for Brian.  
  
“You still haven’t answered the question,” Brian reminded him.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Are we going to Canada?”  
  
Justin smiled. “Yes.”  
  
“Good. I’ll call Lindsay as soon as we get home. You book the flight.”  
  
Once they were out of the city and on the highway, Brian reached over the center console and let his palm rest on Justin’s knee. Justin picked up the hand and threaded his fingers through Brian’s. They didn’t let go until they reached Britin’s driveway and Brian was forced to shift gears.  
  



	30. Chapter 30

It was already dark outside when the cab pulled up to a modest brick house that looked exactly like every other house in the street. It had a front porch and a small front yard, also exactly like every other house neighboring it. Some plastic toys as well as a small bright yellow children’s bike lay strewn around on the lawn beside the cobble stone walkway that led up to the house’s front steps. Through the small frosted glass windows of the entrance door Brian and Justin could see a light inside.  
  
After paying the driver, Brian and Justin got out of the car and, after retrieving their luggage, took a look around. “My son lives in breeder central,” Brian murmured in Justin’s ear as they walked up the five steps to the front door.  
  
“Shhh,” Justin shushed him. “It’s nice. It looks… idyllic.”  
  
“Yeah, a regular Norman Bates paradise,” Brian mocked and Justin hit him in the stomach playfully. He looked around for a doorbell. Not seeing one, he was just about to knock when the door was pulled open from inside.  
  
Lindsay’s head appeared in the opening, light spilling from the room behind her, flowing around her frame and bathing her features in a soft glow. Her hair was shorter and she was a little bit thinner than Justin remembered. But her smile was still the same. “Justin!” She exclaimed, sounding sincerely pleased to see him. “Come on in, come on in.” She ushered them inside before enveloping first Justin, then Brian in a tight hug.  
  
She was already wearing pajamas underneath her pink bathrobe and her face showed an impression of a pillow crease on the cheek. She’d probably fallen asleep while waiting for them. Justin felt a little guilty for keeping her up so late.  
  
“Are you two hungry? Can I offer you something to drink?” She asked in full hostess mode.  
  
“It’s usually no carbs after seven, but I wouldn’t mind a beer right now, if you’ve got one?” Brian asked.  
  
“We do. Justin, for you too?”  
  
“No, but I’ll take a water. Thanks.”  
  
They followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the round table when she motioned them to.  
  
“Mel’s upstairs, feeding JR. She’ll be down shortly to say hello.” She sat down at the table with Brian and Justin, passing them their drinks. “Oh my god, we haven’t seen each other for so long. How are you two doing? How’s the family?”  
  
“We’re fine, Linds,” Justin answered, smiling. Lindsay still was the perfect WASP. Sometimes, the WASPish behavior drove him mad, but tonight he was grateful that Lindsay didn’t bombard him with questions he didn’t know the answer to or wasn’t ready to talk about. She seemed to sense it too, because she kept the conversation light.  
  
“I’m sure Michael keeps you updated about what’s going on with the family and the Pitts,” Brian added, knowing that Lindsay was dying to know how in God’s name it was that he and Justin were sitting in her kitchen right now when only a week ago, during their weekly phone call, Brian had been trying – and failing – to keep the despondent tone out of his voice.  
  
Lindsay however simply smiled at his reply. “That’s true, he does. Michael has been calling almost every day. He always wants to talk to J.R. He doesn’t seem to care that she’s not even big enough to hold a phone receiver yet.”  
  
For a second, Justin feared that Lindsay would reprimand Brian for not coming to visit sooner or more often, but she just smiled and regaled them with a few stories from Michael’s and Ben’s visits. Melanie came down a couple of minutes later and joined in, surprising Justin with her warm greeting that she extended even to Brian. After a spell of light conversation, Lindsay seized a pause to address Justin, “And you are okay, Justin? I mean, I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been for you to go through… all that.”  
  
Justin opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t know what exactly he should say. He knew Lindsay didn’t mean to pry; she was simply interested in how he was dealing with everything. He had no problem talking about the past months with Brian, but whenever someone else addressed the issue, he still closed up involuntarily, unsure how much he should say. He and Brian had found a way back to where they had left off before all of this happened. But it was no thanks to any input from him. In fact, if it wasn’t for Brian, they’d both still be miserable and pining away for each other. Though Justin suspected Brian might wring his neck if he’d ever call what Brian was doing  _pining_. He smiled at Lindsay and said, “I’m fine, Lindsay, really. Brian has been a huge help.” More than she or any of the other members of their family would ever realize. It was one of the things Brian would never take credit for, or speak to anyone else about but Justin.  
  
Lindsay smiled back at him and was about to say something more, but Brian interjected, “You know, we’re really beat. It was a fucking long day. Do you mind if we continue the conversation in the morning?”  
  
“Oh, sure, no problem,” Lindsay replied. “We prepared the guest room for you. Come on, let me show you.”  
  
She and Melanie led them upstairs and Brian noted with satisfaction that the banister that he’d sent money for had indeed been repaired. After Mel said good night and retreated to their bedroom, Brian asked Lindsay, “Can I see Gus?”  
  
“He’s asleep, Brian,” Lindsay answered.  
  
“I know. I’m not going to wake him. Just want to have a quick look.”  
  
Lindsay nodded and Brian followed her to a smaller bedroom. A single bed stood against the wall to the right of the window. The room was small, but nice. It had a warm, lived-in feeling about it and Brian felt slightly better knowing that Gus was taken good care of. Brian stepped closer, careful not to make any noise. The unobtrusive glow of a night light illuminated his sleeping form. Gus slept on his belly, face squished into the pillow, a light wheezing sound escaping with every breath. Brian smiled. Justin had told him that he made that same sound when he slept also. Seemed like he passed on the deviated septum to his son. Brian stood a few more moments, watching Gus sleep before turning away. Lindsay had waited for him at the door, watching.  
  
“He’s grown,” Brian commented.  
  
“He’s tall. He’s the tallest kid in his pre-school group.” There was a pause in which neither of them spoke. “He’ll be thrilled to see you,” Lindsay promised him.  
  
Brian smiled. “Goodnight, Linds.” He kissed her on the cheek and went to the guest room where Justin waited.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“Will you be staying long in Pittsburgh, Justin?” Lindsay asked over her morning coffee.  
  
Justin suppressed a sigh. The time for questions had apparently arrived.  
  
They had gotten up fairly late; Mel had already left for work. Brian hadn’t known that Melanie had found a job. Somehow it had never come up during the weekly phone calls. Or maybe it had when Brian hadn’t been listening. As it turned out now, Lindsay was, once again, a stay at home Mom while Melanie worked in a law office as a paralegal. It was a step down from her position as partner in a firm in Pittsburgh, but Canadian law required her to take an exam to be able to practice law in Canada. She was studying for it in the evenings. Meanwhile the money had to come from somewhere besides Brian’s wallet. Lindsay was doing her part, helping out in a gallery in the city on the weekends to contribute to their income.  
  
“Errh, Lindsay, I’m not going back to New York,” Justin replied. His eyes had dropped to the croissant on his plate when Lindsay had asked the question, but now he looked up and looked her straight in the eye as he answered.  
  
Lindsay’s mouth opened and closed in surprise. She glanced over his head to the other end of the room where Brian sat on the floor in front of a miniature car race track, playing with Gus who was allowed to stay home from school today to be able to spend some time with his Dad. Justin followed her gaze and turned his head, locking eyes with Brian for a moment. Brian might have been engrossed in the game with his son, but he was listening carefully to what was being said at the table, his protective mode in full force. Justin saw he was about to get up to help him deal with Lindsay, but Justin shook his head slightly. It was almost invisible, but Brian got the message and remained where he was.  
  
Justin had a lot more to say to Lindsay but waited till she came up with a response first to see where the conversation would go.  
  
“But, Justin, what about your dream?”  
  
“What dream would that be exactly?” Justin asked, not trying to hide the almost hostile tone in his voice. He’d had a lot of time to think about his motives for going to New York after the article in ArtFroum appeared. It was true that Brian pushed him to go, but it was also true that Brian wasn’t the one to come up with the idea in the first place. He always suspected that Lindsay had used the influence he knew she had over Brian to convince him that Justin needed to go. It was an issue that he’d wanted to address in private long before he and Brian had decided to visit Gus. It seemed like the time had come now. Not the way Justin would have liked it – with Gus and Brian in the room – but he would say what he’d intended to say for a long time now.  
  
“To be an artist,” Lindsay answered, slightly taken aback, clearly not understanding where Justin’s anger was coming from.  
  
“Lindsay, I am an artist. I could never be something else,” Justin explained. “Even if I had gone to Dartmouth like my father wanted me to, I’d still be an artist. That’s who I am.”  
  
“But how do you expect to ever make it in the art world if you stay in Pittsburgh? You think you’d know Andy Warhol’s name now if he hadn’t gone to New York?”  
  
Justin closed his eyes briefly and managed to hold back a frustrated groan. Careful not to raise his voice and alert Gus, he replied as calmly as possible, “I am not Andy Warhol. For Christ’s sake, stop comparing me to him. Or any other artist for that matter. I don’t remember that becoming famous was ever a plan or dream of mine.”  
  
Lindsay interrupted him. “But how are you planning on getting any kind of recognition for your work when you don’t put it out there? I’m afraid that for all the good galleries that you will find in Pittsburgh, it is still only Pittsburgh. It’s not the center of the art world.”  
  
“But I already did receive some recognition. Hollywood came knocking on mine and Michael’s door, remember? I got written up in ArtForum. I didn’t have to go to New York or Paris to achieve any of that.”  
  
“True. But that’s why it’s important that you seize the moment. The art world has a spot open just for you. Why won’t you take it? Your name could be uttered in the same sentence as Fred Williams, Milton Avery, Damien Hirst, Jeff Koons.” Lindsay gesticulated wildly, talking herself into an excited frenzy which caused Justin to smile a sad smile at her. When she stopped to take a breath, she realized that Justin was not about to say anything. She frowned at the look on his face. “What?” She asked, irritated by the silence.  
  
Justin looked over his shoulder at Brian before answering. “This is  _your_  dream, Lindsay. Not mine. It was never mine. Sure, I liked having my stuff shown in art fairs and galleries. I liked that people seemed to like it; enough that they would pay money for it. But I’ve never had my heart set on it. That was you.”  
  
Lindsay listened and shook her head sadly. “I just don’t understand how you can throw away your talent like that. You have everything it takes to be an artist. Talent. Looks. Charm. Youth. Opportunity. Everything! And you’re just throwing it away.”  
  
“Lindsay, enough!” The words were said in a soft and somewhat hushed tone, but the finality in them had not gone unnoticed. Brian got up from the floor, leaving Gus to the model cars and stood beside Justin’s chair, clasping the back rest for support. “Nobody’s throwing anything away.”  
  
“But you’re the reason—” Lindsay began again but was cut off by Brian.  
  
“No! I said enough! Justin will figure out what it is that he wants to do with his life and his talent. And if it turns out he wants to devote the rest of his life to collecting coins, then that’s what he will do. And you don’t have any say in it. Neither do I, for that matter. It will be Justin’s decision, understood?”  
  
Lindsay stared at him for the longest time. Eventually she nodded and got up to collect the dishes from the table. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room when neither knew what to say or how to proceed.  
  
“Daddy, Jussin, look!” Gus called from behind a parking tower that he’d built with Legos arching over a race track lane.  
  
Before Brian went to admire his son’s work, Justin grabbed his wrist and held him back, mock-whispering, “Brian, I will  _not_  become a numismatist,” Justin said, outraged at the mere idea. He looked at Brian like he was crazy.  
  
“A what?” Brian returned the same look.  
  
“A person who collects coins – a numismatist,” Justin explained patiently.  
  
“How the fuck do you know how a person who collects—” Brian began, but gave up. “Ah, never mind.”  
  
Justin grinned and followed Brian to join Gus in their game. Lindsay remained seated at the table, clutching her cup of coffee to her chest and staring at them. Justin felt a little bad for Lindsay, but then he saw the playful glint in Brian’s eyes as he talked to his son and Justin forgot all about her.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Justin had been very quiet on their way back from the airport. He’d been quiet on the ride to the airport and during their flight as well. Brian didn’t ask. He knew what was running through the blond head. He’d wanted to be angry with Lindsay for bringing up the matter, but Justin had assured him that he hadn’t minded. Still, Brian couldn’t help but feel a little resentment towards his friend of many years. Brian knew it would pass eventually, but for now he just wanted to stew a little in his anger at her.  
  
Despite everything, the visit hadn’t been a total waste. Gus had seemed genuinely happy to have his daddy around and they’d spent a lot of quality time together. Before they left, Gus had made Justin and him promise to return for another visit in a month. This time, Brian planned to keep his word.  
  
They arrived at Britin in the early evening. While Brian fiddled with the alarm system, Justin picked up the mail that had accumulated during their absence. They really would need to contact an agency soon that would send them someone who could look after the place during the times they were gone. Justin was about to say something about it to Brian when a letter in his hand stopped him. He searched the remaining stack for its twin and found it seconds later. Holding them up to Brian, he smiled wide and even wider when, after opening them, Brian assumed the famous tongue in cheek grin. They’d been gone three days.  
  
When Brian continued to stare at Justin, the expression on his face turning into something feral, Justin’s eyes glazed over and everything around him slowed down, including his own movements. Big neon red letters appeared before his inner eye, spelling NOW and Justin had difficulty catching a breath or commanding his body, relying completely on Brian and feeling like he was in a trance. He dimly noticed the pack of letters gliding from his hand and heard a thud as Brian let go of the carry-on bag that he’d been carrying over his shoulder. Suddenly Brian was there, picking him up and Justin followed the signal and wrapped his legs around Brian’s middle. Their mouths met in a wild frenzy. A fleeting thought that he should enjoy this crossed Justin’s mind but he couldn’t focus long enough on it, his need to get even closer to Brian overriding any other impulses. He never dared to think about this moment before and now that it was happening he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Fueled only by the desire to finally – fucking  _finally_  – feel Brian inside him, he pulled at clothes and hair, heard a button on Brian’s shirt pop or maybe it was his patience. It had to happen  _now_! But time moved so fucking slowly, too slowly. Justin heard sounds but couldn’t discern whether they were his or Brian’s.   
  
It felt like hours later when he found himself at the bottom of the stairs. His lips felt sore, his face felt hot, his limbs felt like jelly. Brian had always had the ability to do this to him. Justin’s vision frazzled on the edges, the need to feel naked skin too immediate and too strong to be ignored. He tried to reach Brian’s pants, but his hands wouldn’t obey. He grunted something unintelligible in frustration, trusting that Brian would understand.  
  
He did. Justin didn’t know when or how he’d lost all of his clothes. He only knew that they were gone the next time he faded in on reality; by that time they had reached the middle of the staircase. Not caring for the uncomfortable position and ignoring the sharp and cold edge of marble cutting into his skin, he sighed in relief as Brian’s naked form pressed against his. Their naked cocks rubbed together in a delicious way, but it was not enough. Justin wanted more.  
  
Finally letting go of his swollen lips, Brian motioned for Justin to turn around. Justin was about to protest – why was everything taking so fucking long? He locked his legs around Brian’s hips and silently willed Brian to  _get it on_. But Brian had his own plans and broke the tight hold Justin had around him, moving him until Justin found his upper body pressed against the banister. He clutched to the railing, resting his forehead on the cool metalwork, while Brian’s mouth sucked and nipped down his spine. Justin moaned, as much from the passion of the moment as from a hunger resulting from three days of no such contact as they couldn’t bring themselves to fuck next door to two lesbians, in a bed where Michael and Ben were probably getting it on regularly. But these thoughts had no place in Justin’s head right now when Brian’s arm snaked around him and reached for his hard cock. Finally, Justin thought.  
  
Justin pushed his ass against Brian who was still positioned behind him in an effort to entice the man to move things along.  
  
“Bed,” Brian breathed wet and hot in Justin’s ear and a delicate shiver ran down Justin’s spine when Brian’s raspy voice raised the hairs on his neck.  
  
“No time. Now,” Justin managed to pant and pushed again, his hip connecting with Brian’s dick clumsily and making Brian groan in return.  
  
“Fuck,” Brian muttered and spit into his hand, wrapping it around his own hard dick. Unfortunately his pants that contained the necessary supplies lay crumbled at the foot of the stairs and Brian didn’t think Justin in his current state would appreciate the sentiment if Brian got up to get them. “Fuck, fuck,” he muttered again and again while desperately trying to get Justin ready in a minimum of time. He spit again into his palm and used it to wet Justin’s entrance, pushing a finger roughly inside.  
  
“Goddammit, Brian,” Justin growled. “What part of NOW don’t you understand?” He was so far gone, his brain turned to mush, he didn’t even pause to marvel at his ability to still form full sentences.  
  
Brian yanked his finger free, ignored Justin’s gasp and grabbed his own dick again, directing it to the opening and pushing slowly inside. Justin released a breathy groan and let the world fade away, all his attention focusing on Brian slipping inside. It felt like Brian was slipping into each pore of him and he sighed in suspended relief. He didn’t need anything else but this. Justin felt a burning sensation, but whether it was from the pain of entry or the newness of the feeling he couldn’t tell. And it was irrelevant. All that mattered was this moment; bigger and better than any of his fantasies. He didn’t stop the litany of incoherent sounds that spilled from his mouth.  
  
Brian heard Justin’s loud groans and muttering, and couldn’t keep a feral growl from tumbling out as he felt Justin clamp down on and all around him. He fought the urge to simply push in and out of Justin’s body. Justin’s head rose from where it rested on the banister, arching in a beautiful curve. For a moment, Brian was so mesmerized by the moment’s beauty, he halted, almost forgetting everything else. Another frustrated low growl from Justin pulled him from the trance and Brian’s arms came around the upper body of the younger man, pulling him up and against his own chest.  
  
Justin moaned again as Brian’s movement repositioned the cock lodged inside his body and hit a spot that made Justin see millions of stars in his peripheral vision. He adjusted his position, shifting one bent knee to a lower step which made Brian sink even deeper inside him. Only then did he start to move, a rhythm that was immediately picked up by Brian. The brunet moved slowly in and out, past the fading resistance and into depths hotter than he’d ever imagined. It made droplets of sweat appear first on his forehead then on his chest, smoothing the glide of Justin’s body against his own. He lost all feeling of time as he slid in and out of Justin’s body, effortlessly and agonizingly slow. Justin protested the torturous pace with a primal sound that made a shudder run down Brian’s spine. But Brian simply couldn’t bring himself to speed up. He wasn’t doing it to torment Justin; he simply couldn’t get enough of the feel of him around his cock. The rippling sensation when he pulled out completely only to push back inside again, Justin’s muscles cascading along his length like well-rehearsed choreography; the feeling of Justin’s prostate when he touched the bump with the tip of his cock, not muffled by the reservoir of the condom; the sheer knowledge of feeling Justin in a way that nobody had ever done before was too overwhelming. Brian didn’t know how to break the spell he was under until Justin moved hard against him, their hips slapping against each other, jarring Brian awake. Brian adjusted the pace and started to move faster, harder, with determination that made him almost frantic. Once he started, his thoughts scattered and he was completely overtaken by instinct, his hips snapping, sounds pouring from his throat without him realizing it.  
  
Everything felt hot. In the back of his mind Justin knew the banister and marble stairs were cool, but everywhere they touched his body it felt like ember. He was burning from inside; Brian adding to the sweltering heat every time he reached his core. But it wasn’t enough. Oh God, he was going to burn up before he reached his orgasm. When Brian finally caught up to his predicament and sped up, the incoherent sounds coming from Justin turned into something else. Soon he was chanting Brian’s name like an endless mantra.  
  
Brian shuddered. He’d never be able to describe it, but hearing his own name formed again and again by those lips that he’d kissed and licked and nibbled so many times, did something inexplicable to him. It made him believe again; though what or in whom exactly he didn’t know.  
  
Minutes later he felt as though his soul was catapulted out of his body and Brian didn’t even think about holding back and just soared. The few brain cells that weren’t being fried by the explosion registered Justin freezing up and releasing a strangled cry as the blond reached the abyss too. It had felt like he’d left the earth’s orbit for a moment, Brian thought as soon as he was capable of thinking lucidly again while he continued to hold on to Justin’s middle, threading his fingers through Justin’s and squeezing hard. He never imagined stairs could feel so comfortable.  
  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
“You know what I really hate?” Justin asked, fingers playing with Brian’s auburn strands. They had made it to the bed eventually, repeating and recreating the experience from the staircase. Neither of them had slept a minute during the whole night, but both were strangely awake and alert, despite the new day that was slowly dawning behind drawn curtains.  
  
“What?” Brian asked the question that he was supposed to ask.  
  
“That Lindsay instilled the belief in me that I can only be an artist when I live in New York. Like those two facts are forever connected. But they’re not. I can be an artist anywhere.”  
  
Brian sat up in the bed, pushing his pillow against the headboard and leaning against it. He waited to see where Justin’s thoughts would lead him and didn’t respond. He’d known, even though he’d remained very quiet on their plane ride back home, that Justin would want to talk about it sooner or later. Brian listened as the blond got everything off his chest.  
  
Justin sat cross-legged on the comforter and continued when he saw that he had Brian’s attention. He gave voice to the doubts that had been troubling him. “But she may have been right about me never being famous or getting the kind of recognition that leads to fame.”  
  
“We can move to New York, if that is what you want,” Brian supplied. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just till your career takes off. I could go client hunting there.”  
  
“You know, the thought occurred to me as well,” Justin admitted. “In fact, that’s what I’ve been thinking about a lot during the past three days.”  
  
“And?” Brian prompted, anxious to hear the outcome of Justin’s soul searching.  
  
“That’s not what I want,” Justin said with conviction. “Remember what I told you about the New Yorker art scene?” Justin asked and Brian nodded, remembering a conversation from not long ago. “After I remembered again,” Justin recounted, “so many things came back to me. Like the need to paint or sketch. I never felt the urge strongly during all the time when I couldn’t remember anything. I never felt it, period. But suddenly it was there, with full force. I think the first week or so I didn’t leave my apartment once, I’d been painting so excessively.”  
  
“Therapy?” Brian asked.  
  
Justin thought about it. “Yeah. Only way more effective.”  
  
“Where are those paintings now?” Brian asked.  
  
“Sold some of them. A few were still in my apartment somewhere under the bed. You don’t want to see them. They’re ugly. Good, but ugly.” Justin smiled sadly in memory, but then he met Brian’s contemplative stare and smiled for real. “Stop brooding. I was in a bad place then. And New York didn’t make it easier.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
Justin answered pensively, “It’s an amazing city, but when you show it your weakness, it’ll eat you alive. You cannot take time-outs if you want to make it there. As I was saying, for a short while after I remembered, I tried to peddle my art on the streets.” At Brian’s raised eyebrow, Justin laughed and relented, “Alright, so I offered it to some high-end galleries. Big names with even bigger bucks. And here’s the great thing about New York: The atmosphere there is unbelievable. It pulsates. It’s alive. The whole city is. And there’s art on every corner, in every dingy café or diner. It’s amazing because you meet people there that are just like me: ambitious, hopeful. It’s like a swarm, there are so many talented guys and gals there. But then there’s also this other side to it: People who lost all hope. They go through life with no more expectations. And you know what? Maybe Lindsay is right. Maybe I’m one of them. Maybe I didn’t make it and here I am, coming back, waving the white flag. Maybe these are the musings of someone who’s not cut out for this competitive world and the throat-cutting. Maybe.”  
  
Brian was about to object to that, but Justin didn’t let him.  
  
“No, listen. I don’t care if that’s true. Because what I also know to be true is this: I don’t want to be on the other side either, the winning side. I don’t want to become one of those pretentious snobs. Art to them is equivalent with how much money you can make of it. The less understandable, the better it must be! They looked down on me because I spent three months in Hollywood working on making a movie out of my  _comic_. You should have seen the sneer on their faces when they came to that part of my résumé. I’m proud of Rage. I don’t want to work with assholes who hold painted or sculpted art above graphic animation.”  
  
“You create for yourself, not for anyone. You don’t paint or draw with regard to what sells and what doesn’t. It’s honest. I get it,” Brian said.  
  
“I know you do,” Justin said and smiled at him. It felt good to talk to someone who understood and didn’t lecture. “But that’s exactly what being in New York was all about. To sell. To make money. I realized one day that it had never been that important to me. I let myself be swept away by the idea because of the excitement with which Lindsay talked about it; because of the picture that she painted. Sure, it would be great to be able to earn your living through art, but not at the cost of compromising your own beliefs.” Justin looked at Brian with a fond smile. A lot of what Brian taught him over the years had stuck. “Besides,” he continued, “I always thought I’d be an animator. Painting was always just a method of venting; of letting go of some of the feelings that couldn’t be expressed by any other means. It was never meant to be my life’s purpose.”  
  
Justin fell suddenly silent, another realization dawning on him. Brian saw something in his face settle and find peace. He slid down on the bed a little and rested his head on his pillow again. Pulling Justin down with him, he got comfortable and waited for Justin to go on.  
  
“I like doing Rage, Brian,” Justin said, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Brian didn’t like how it sounded practically like an excuse. Justin didn’t need to apologize for favoring his comic book over a critically acclaimed discipline. But he let him go on uninterrupted. “I know it started out as something fun et cetera,” Justin explained. “But it’s really become something I’d like to build on. Maybe it’s stupid to,” Justin used his fingers to sign quotation marks, “‘give up’ painting in favor for Hollywood, but I’d really love to eventually see Rage the Movie on the big screen. Not with Brett Keller as a producer, but maybe someone else will show interest. Rage can be an animated movie. Those are up and coming these days.”  
  
“That’s a great idea, Sunshine,” Brian concurred.  
  
“You really think so?” Justin asked, suddenly unsure.  
  
Brian nodded. “I really think so.”  
  
“Thanks. Rage is the kind of art that is closer to my heart anyway because it’s not pretentious. It reaches people, masses even. It doesn’t make you feel like you need to have a diploma to be able to like it or talk about it. You know, I hated Ethan’s friends.”  
  
That was quite a mental leap, one that Brian couldn’t follow. His face reflected his confusion.  
  
Justin laughed and explained, “They were such elitist assholes. Talking all high and mighty, and feeling better than the rest because of it. God, they were boring. Rage is not boring. I want to pursue Rage. Gotta talk to Michael. See if we can introduce a multi-issue story arc. Maybe hire someone to do the preliminaries and rough sketches, so I can focus on the details and the finalizing drawings. We’d probably need to get incorporated before I start courting animation studios, gotta look into that too.”  
  
Justin would have prattled away if Brian hadn’t stopped him. He loved to see the excitement on the blond’s face and welcomed the return of the overflowing energy and abundance of optimism. But it was not even five o’clock in the morning and he was getting sleepy. Not to mention that it was too early to call anyone or put anything in writing. “Sounds great” Brian cut in. “You definitely should talk to Michael about it and I’ll help you with the getting incorporated shit. I can set you up with the legal department of Kinnetik. I even have some ideas of my own, but how about getting some sleep first?” Brian yawned wide.   
  
Justin grinned. “Really? You’re going to help us?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Justin contemplated the offer. “Alright then. Sleep it is.” He stretched out beside Brian and rolled over and into Brian’s chest, curling up in a tight ball. Britin was still fucking freezing. He’d need to find the thermostat really soon.  
  
Brian settled down as well, pulling the thick duvet over the both of them. His breathing evened out to long deep exhales and he had almost drifted off to the dream land, when Justin murmured into his chest, voice muffled, “Mmrian?”  
  
“Hmm?” Brian didn’t open his eyes.  
  
Justin lifted his head. “What kind of ideas?”  
  
Brian sighed in mock frustration. There was no sense in taking it up with an excited Justin. “Collector’s items. Signed copies. Limited editions. Maybe one issue in colored ink. That kind of stuff.”  
  
He felt Justin settle back and smile against his chest. “That sounds great. I should have thought of that.”  
  
“It’s early,” Brian said, patting Justin’s head. “Sleep.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
After another ten minutes, Brian was once more torn awake from his almost-asleep state.  
  
“Brian?” Justin fake-whispered.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ll still want my studio. I’m not going to stop painting. And if it sells, fine. But I’m not going to knock on galleries’ doors anymore, begging them to look at my work. I didn’t like it. I don’t want to sell myself like that.”  
  
“Agreed. Can we sleep now?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The quiet only lasted for a minute, before Justin perked up again. “Brian?”  
  
Brian finally opened his eyes and said, “Justin, you can have your studio and you can pick one of the guest rooms and convert it into a home office, for all I care. In fact, I’m going to buy you a new computer with the best and newest imaging software and I’ll even hire someone who will install it, if we can have a couple of hours of sleep  _right now_.”  
  
Justin looked at him with a small smile playing on his lips. “I just wanted to say that I love you.”  
  
“Oh,” Brian replied. “Ditto.”  
  
Justin settled down again, curling up next to Brian one more time. “But I’ll take the computer too,” he said with a smirk.  
  
“Twat.” Brian kissed the top of his head. “Sleep.”  
  
“M’kay.”  
  



	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might find the interview part of this epilogue boring. I have to admit that I put it there not to advance or conclude the story, but for simply personal reasons. I apologize and hope you can still enjoy this last chapter.

**Epilogue**

**\--Six Years Later--**  
  
Brian’s POV  
  
“Could you please hurry?” Justin’s voice carries through the room and reaches me in the bathroom. Even through the closed door I can hear him gritting his teeth. I smirk at my own reflection in the mirror.  
  
“I didn’t say anything when  _you_  locked yourself in here for more than an hour, did I?” I reply, raising my voice slightly so it could be heard in the adjoining room.  
  
“Unlike you, I started my preparations early and kept an eye on the clock,” Justin retorts. He’s become such a wise-ass have-to-have-the-last-word know-it-all; it’s annoying, really.  
  
“I would have started earlier too if someone hadn’t hogged the bathroom for over an hour,” I again point out suggestively.  
  
I can’t see him, but I’m sure he’s rolling his eyes. “It’s not my fault you wanted to wait till I was finished. You could have joined me; the bathroom is certainly big enough. There are two sinks and mirrors in there, in case you haven’t noticed.” Wise-ass, as I said.  
  
“But then where would the element of surprise be?” I answer syrupy sweetly.  
  
“Briaaaaan,” Justin whines.  
  
“Keep your panties on, Princess. And also, are you channeling Mikey?”  
  
Justin decides to ignore the last comment and tries to be reasonable. “We’re gonna be late,” he says with clipped on patience.  
  
“Patience, young grasshopper,” I reply, taking my sweet time.  
  
When Justin answers, I can hear his inward growl. “There’s no such thing as being fashionably late for tonight’s event, you realize that, don’t you? They’re not gonna wait for us to arrive,” he objects.  
  
“Sure they will.”  
  
“Your ego and your sense for self-importance know no bounds,” Justin mutters quietly. I’m sure I’m not supposed to hear that, but he’s not being exactly stealthy. I don’t dignify his statement with a reply. By the way he suddenly changes the topic I know he’s realized why. “Seriously, Brian, hurry!”  
  
“I wanna look my best,” I answer him.  
  
“You always look stunning,” Justin clarifies. Now we’re getting somewhere. Flattery will get him anywhere and he knows it because I can hear him grin. “You could wear a potato sack and you’d still look hot.”  
  
I give myself a last once-over in the mirror and shrug. He’s not wrong about that. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sunshine, but it’s not up to you to pass the judgment today. The whole world will be watching.” His eyes narrow at the ‘whole world’ comment which he probably thinks is a bit of an exaggeration, but he knows what I mean.  
  
I choose that moment to step out of the spacious bathroom and into the bedroom of the hotel suite. I spread my arms wide and turn in a circle, presenting the result of the last sixty minutes to Justin.  
  
He stares open-mouthed, jaw slack, pink tongue sticking out slightly, looking practically edible himself. I smirk at the expected reaction and wait for him to comment. Not bad, I’d say, that I can still render him speechless just by walking into a room. Not many things, besides my dick in his mouth, can do that. I’ll give him a few more minutes just because I know that I look amazing tonight; or what was it that Justin had called me once?  _Magnificent_. Yes, that too. I have to smirk again as I remember the talk. Justin was drunk and in a nostalgic mood when he shared this particular bit of appraisal with me. As I watch him stare at me, I come to the conclusion that it had been worth keeping this outfit a secret from Justin just to be able to see his face right now.  
  
While he’s busy studying me, I’ll make use of the time and do just the same. Justin finished dressing for the evening before me and he is wearing a cream-colored suit with a dark gray shirt and no tie. He chose and for once, I approve of the outfit. With the top two buttons undone, his appearance seems less formal while at the same time paying tribute to the high-caliber event. He is a masterful combination of relaxed accomplishment and laid-back coolness, simultaneously exuding professionalism. It suits him. He looks radiant. Of course, most of it is adoration, directed at me – what can I say, the man has good taste. The rest of it is pride and he has all reason to be. Justin accomplished something huge and he should bask in his achievement. The look he wears on his face tonight is one of pure contentment and I have to admit it looks good on him. He’ll have all the guests eating out of his hand this evening. I’m sure that the press will be going nuts once they lay their eyes on Justin. And I don’t look half bad either, if I say so myself.  
  
Justin still hasn’t said a word, but his mouth opens and closes as if he is trying to find the right one. I look down on myself. The new Canali tuxedo was custom made for this very occasion; I ordered it during our last stay in New York City and had it flown in directly to this hotel. It had cost more money than I’d ever be comfortable disclosing to Justin, but seeing his reaction, I’m ready to wager that maybe Justin wouldn’t mind so much after all. Thinking ahead of the photos that would be taken tonight, I chose a dark brown wool with barathea silk lapels, that was accentuated by a silk shirt in the same color and completed by a diagonally striped tie. I’m taking no chances – and if anyone dares suggest we chose matching outfits, he better run for cover. I simply took a precaution to ensure that our outfits wouldn’t clash. You gotta keep an eye on the details.  
  
“Fuck, Brian, you look amazing,” Justin finally breathes, coming to.  
  
He looks me up and down for the tenth time and I let him. It seems like he can’t get enough, his eyes rake over my expertly clad body repeatedly. Suddenly Justin’s eyes lose their dreamy and slightly awed look and he squints through narrow slits.  
  
“So typical!” he says with pretend disdain.  
  
“What?” I don’t understand the change of mood. A second ago he looked horny as hell.  
  
“You trying to outdo me,” Justin explains.  
  
I suppress a grin and arch one eyebrow instead, pushing my tongue in my cheek for good measure. “I have to try now?”  
  
Justin laughs. “Asshole,” he says lovingly.  
  
“Yes. And you love me, so what does it say about you?”  
  
Now he is laughing for real. “Touché.” After coming back to semi-seriousness, he adapts his pouty voice again, “Honestly, Brian, isn’t there some kind of rule there that states you’re not supposed to look better than me?”  
  
I come closer and lean in for a kiss. Before our lips can touch, I reply, “I think you’re confusing it with some time-honored wedding tradition. Plus, I believe this particular custom is limited to brides only. Last time I checked you were neither at a wedding, nor a bride.” I finally allow our mouths to touch and for a moment I can feel Justin forget that we are in a hurry. He surrenders into the kiss, relaxing his jaw and letting me inside. His tongue is so soft when it touches mine gently and I linger on the wet inside of his lower lip for a moment before beginning my retreat. Too early apparently. Justin doesn’t want our contact to end just yet. He raises his arms, wanting to pull me back towards him by running his fingers through my hair and that’s my cue to stop him. I grab his forearms and pull him from his trance.  
  
“No touching the hair till the photos are done,” I admonish. It’s rule number one for tonight; he ought to remember.  
  
It seems to remind Justin of our evening plans and he groans. “It’s all your fault! Stop distracting me! We’re already late.”  
  
“Well, let’s go then. That is, if you’re done undressing me with your eyes.”  
  
Justin grabs his cell phone from the nightstand in passing and answers, while walking swiftly toward the suite’s entrance door, “I’m not done yet. But I don’t mind doing it in front of the cameras and reporters and fans.” I’m walking behind him but I can hear the grin in his voice all the way over here. I curse him mentally. Little fucker. I’ll probably be hard all the way down the red carpet thinking about just what kind of images his dirty little mind is conjuring up.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
“We should have walked. It’s only a couple of blocks. Now my suit pants will get wrinkled,” Brian complained after taking a seat in the back of the black glossy limousine.  
  
“Stop bitching. Nobody but yourself will see the wrinkles. Because they are i-ma-gi-na-ry,” Justin said, accentuating every syllable of the last word and finishing his teasing with a wide toothy grin.  
  
Brian sent him a deathly glare in response which Justin acknowledged with an even wider grin. Brian tried to relax and leaned back against the leather cushions of the vehicle, closing his eyes. But Justin beside him radiated a nervous energy that made it difficult to clear his mind. Brian reached with an arm towards Justin and pulled him closer.  
  
“Relax. Everything’s gonna be great. You deserve it,” Brian said.  
  
Justin tried to let go of the tension that stemmed from anticipation more than from any insecurity. He turned his head slightly towards Brian and watched the taller man’s profile. Brian seemed so calm. He always seemed calm and centered. All through the craziness of the past years, he’d always been a rock. Justin felt a surge of ridiculous happiness thump through his veins. He pushed his face against the curve of Brian’s neck, nuzzling his pulse point and inhaling Brian’s expensive cologne.  
  
“Thank you,” he murmured.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Brian replied without opening his eyes.  
  
Justin pulled back a little, locking his gaze on Brian’s relaxed face. “I don’t just mean for the ‘You deserve it’ part. I mean thank you for the last six years.”  
  
Brian’s eyes opened and he met Justin’s serious ones. “I wasn’t aware I was doing anything that warranted gratitude from you,” Brian answered honestly.  
  
“I know. And that’s why you have it. I appreciate all the time you spent on airplanes with me, all the nights you spent alone in our bed because I was in the studio working late, or you putting up with me during one of my frustrated rages, just… thank you.”  
  
Brian pursed his lips and wound an arm around Justin’s shoulders. He pressed a kiss to his forehead. He didn’t want Justin’s gratitude; he hadn’t done anything special. Justin was the one who’d done all the work, pursuing his dream; Brian’s input had always only been to offer advice and be there when Justin needed to vent. The craziness, well, that was something that came with the territory. When he’d decided he wanted to spend his life with Justin, he’d known that it would never be the boring everyday routine that other couples occasionally suffered from. He always knew that sharing his life with Justin would result in plenty of surprises, and unexpected turns, and comedic accidents that The Powers That Be were generally so fond of. The way he saw it, Justin was merely living up to his expectations. It was as simple as that.  
  
When the limousine slowed, the driver announced that they were lining up at the red carpet and would be ready to open the doors in a few moments. The news brought a fresh bout of nervous energy over Justin and he began squirming in his seat, kneading the knuckles of his right hand. Brian instinctively reached for it, wanting to massage the pain away but Justin pulled back. He smiled back at the brunet, “Later.”  
  
The next moment, the limousine’s door opened and Justin was forced to leave the confines of the vehicle. Before he stepped outside, Brian reached for one of Justin’s wrists and clutched it briefly in an unconscious overprotective gesture that neither of them noticed or paid much attention to anymore. Justin’s response was just as automatic when he reached out and squeezed the brunet’s shoulder in reassurance. Brian hung back when Justin stepped out of the car, allowing his partner one moment alone in the spotlight before he would join him. He used the opportunity to pour one small shot from one of the airplane-sized whiskey bottles that he found in the tiny fridge. Keeping an eye on Justin’s cramping hand, Brian’s mind drifted off to a different time.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
Brian’s POV  
  
Sometimes, Justin would stand by the front door, or his car, thinking hard while scratching his nose in that way that I would never call adorable but which for some reason always made me stop and stare and smirk fondly. Then Justin would scrunch up said nose and say something like, “I can’t remember where I put my wallet.” Every sentence starting like this never failed to make me freeze and dread another visit to this office that we were currently sitting in before Justin would come out of his stupor, jarred awake by my sudden impersonation of a statue no doubt, and say, “Oh, relax! You loose your keys way more often than I do, and you don’t see me dragging you in for a CAT scan every time, do you?” And then I would do just that: relax and remind myself that it was over now. Occasionally there would still be tiny details that Justin needed help with remembering, but they weren’t important by my, and thus the world’s, standards. We didn’t dwell on them.  
  
As we sat in the empty office of Justin’s neurologist, waiting for the doctor to arrive with the results of the latest test, I wished with all my might that this was one of those times where I only visited this office in my mind, as a result of a momentary scare. But as the stark interior and faint smell of disinfectant continued to alert me to the reality, it was becoming increasingly difficult. I tried hard not to be nervous and, since I couldn’t really help  _that_ , I concentrated on simply not showing it. Justin was sitting on the edge of the plastic chair, tapping his foot anxiously. The rapid movement made my chair sway with vibration and I rested a hand on his rocking knee to stop the nervous habit.  
  
Justin glanced sideways at me. His eyes had that almost detached, impersonal touch which made my stomach twist with unbidden memories. I hated when he looked at me like this; like he didn’t know me, didn’t need me. I tried to eliminate this expression from his face and offered him my hand, palm turned upward for him to take. But he ignored me. It’s his defense mechanism, I know that. It’s how he copes. It’s his way of dealing with things that cause him great stress. Once we’d know whether the doctor had good or bad news for us, Justin would return to his usual self. But until then he retreated inside himself. Then he’d be able to return or accept the offer of support. Until then, he was off-limits to anyone. If only the doctor would hurry.  
  
We had to endure another ten minutes of uncomfortable silence before the doctor finally walked in, a folder in his hand. He sat down behind his heavy oak tree desk before addressing us.  
  
“Justin, Brian,” he nodded towards each of us, having switched to a first names basis years ago, “I’m sure you two are curious about the results.”  
  
“That’s an understatement,” I muttered under my breath and received a reprimanding look from Justin. The world could be crumbling beneath his feet and he’d still make sure to adhere to his WASPy manners. He could be such a geek sometimes.  
  
“Well,” the neurologist continued, ignoring my low murmur. “I have the news here.” He began shuffling through the papers. What did he make us wait for? Couldn’t he have fished out the document in question before he entered this room? Judging by the time he’d let us wait, he should have memorized the contents of it anyway.  
  
“Not  _bad_  news or  _good_  news? Just news?” I asked, interrupting; needing to fill the void.  
  
The doctor looked up from the file and smiled at me. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure it’s news at all.” He turned his attention to Justin. “You see, Justin, everything’s just like it was. Nothing changed. You decide if it’s good or bad.” I heard the words, but they were registering slowly. A look at Justin confirmed that he didn’t understand either. At the look of incomprehension the doctor received in return, he explained, “There is still some scar tissue around the area where you were bashed.” I smiled grimly at that; no humor visible on my face. I appreciated the neurologist calling things by their names instead of tip-toeing around the issue as so many others always tried to do. “However,” the doctor continued, “there is nothing that would indicate a deterioration of motor skills. Justin, are you sure that you’re not simply over-using your hand?”  
  
We had come to Dr. Davis’ office three days ago because Justin’s hand had taken a turn for the worse. I hadn’t noticed it right away; I should have, but the little twat didn’t say a word either. Apparently, it had been cramping more often than usual and the intensity of the pain had increased also – this much I had been able to pry from him. But I didn’t know how long it had been deteriorating. The only reason it had come out at all was because I heard Justin cry in his sleep one night, clutching the unnaturally twisted hand to his chest. It scared the living fuck out of me. I couldn’t remember when the last time was that I was petrified like this. Okay, so maybe I knew, but it never got any easier. I had confronted him then and ignored all of Justin’s assurances that this was a normal incident, and all of his objections to go see his neurologist again as well. Since Justin wasn’t going to do it, I took matters into my own hands. I’d arranged for an emergency appointment and mere hours later we had found ourselves in the office that we were sitting in right now. Back then, we hadn’t spoken because Justin had been so angry with me; said I was treating him like a child.  
  
Right now though, Justin reached for my hand and chanced a quick glance at me before answering the doctor’s question. “Well—” Justin began to squirm in his chair a little, getting uncomfortable. He couldn’t lie for shit; he made up for it by not telling me things, always using the ‘I didn’t want you to get angry’ apology in the end. But the time for secrets was over now.  
  
I almost exploded when he began with the evasive wriggling. Without giving him a chance to explain, I got into his face, intent on ripping him a new one, “Justin! What the fuck is going on?!”  
  
Instead of answering, he glanced to his doctor with an apologetic smile. Fuck the fucking doctor, for fuck’s sake! Not like he’s never met us before. “Calm down, for Christ’s sake. It’s nothing really. I just may have helped the guys with the story boards a little more than everyone thought.”  
  
I gritted out through my teeth, “Define ‘helped’. And while you’re at it, how much is ‘a little more’?”  
  
Justin fixed a point behind my head and confessed in a contrite tone, “I may have done them all myself.”  
  
Always knew he’d be the death of me. Or the reason for some prematurely gray hair; which in my world pretty much amounts to the same thing. I couldn’t believe it. I forced myself to remain cool and I think I managed because my voice sounded deceptively calm when I asked, “Why?”  
  
“Why?!” Now it was Justin’s turn to explode, his voice rising to express the incredulity he felt at the audacity of my question. “Because they’re all idiots!”  
  
That wasn’t exactly news. Justin had been complaining about the studio hired asshats that called themselves artists ever since he’d first met them and seen their sketches. I closed my eyes briefly before replying in a pacifying tone, “I’m sure they are.” I caught a bewildered look from the doctor at that and felt obliged to add, “… not as incompetent as you make them seem.” I thought I saved this one very nicely, but Justin’s mind had no capacity to appreciate my masterly word plays for the moment.  
  
He raised both his eyebrows in blatant disbelief instead. “Are you for real!? They don’t know shit about how to draw Rage. They would need years of experience to draw him the way he should look. We don’t have years.”  
  
Probably sensing that Justin and I needed some time alone to discuss things, the doctor got up and excused himself, giving us permission to use his office for our private talk. He left quickly and closed the door behind himself.  
  
“Why not?” I asked, returning to seriousness again.  
  
“Huh?” Justin replied ever-so-eloquent.  
  
“Why don’t you have years? Are you on a schedule?”  
  
Justin rolled his eyes at the admittedly non-savvy question. “I’m sure the studio will expect to see some results eventually.”  
  
“Okay,” I drawled. “But is there a time clause in your contract?” The question was rhetorical, of course, because I knew full well that there wasn’t, having negotiated the contract myself, with the help of two very capable lawyers.  
  
“No,” Justin replied dully.  
  
“So what’s the hurry then?” I asked, still not understanding why Justin would push himself so hard; to a point where he would risk his health.  
  
“What if we miss our window of opportunity?” Justin asked miserably.  
  
“What window of opportunity? What are you talking about?”  
  
“I mean animated superhero movies. Right now, it’s all the rage.” Justin smiled at the unintentional word play. “If it takes us years to deliver, what if nobody wants it then?”  
  
“Then they would be the idiots and the joke would be on them. You don’t want idiots to see your movie anyway, do you?”  
  
“No,” Justin answered, again in a sullen voice. He didn’t look up and instead preferred to inspect his fingernails.  
  
“And since when do you swim with the tide?” I asked another rhetorical question.  
  
“Brian,” Justin finally glanced up, imploring me to understand, “I don’t want it all to have been for nothing. I want people to see the greatness of Rage. Yes, okay, I don’t see things clearly because I’m the one making the damn movie, but I just want them to realize what potential Rage can have when it comes out. The first  _gay_  superhero on the big screen. Do you realize the significance of it? What it would mean to the gay community? It’s not just about making a movie,” Justin closed.  
  
I nodded, understanding. “Then we’ll pimp the hell out of it. Make people want to see it.”  
  
“You really think it’s that easy?”  
  
“Hey, I’ve been known to make people want things,” I reminded him. “But we’ll do it on our own time.  _You_ ’ll do it on your own time. No more pushing yourself. If it’s a choice between the movie or your hand, then there is no choice, understood?” Why do I have to say this out loud at all?! Fuck! No movie, no matter how well-intended and politically important, is worth jeopardizing his motor function for.  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Say it,” I told him.  
  
“I won’t sacrifice my health for Rage,” he recited like a well-behaved student.  
  
“You’re right you won’t,” I said with as much authority as I could muster while at the same time trying not to let on how fucking terrified I was at the mere possibility. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Why go through all these tests again if you knew it was simply over-use?”  
  
Justin looked contrite again and didn’t answer. He bit his lip and tried to look away, but I grabbed his chin and forced him to meet my eyes. “I just thought, now that we’re here already, they might as well take a look around. Maybe… you know?”  
  
“Maybe it’s gotten better?” I asked.  
  
Justin shrugged. “Yeah,” he admitted in a small voice.  
  
“Maybe it will,” I answered. Justin smiled sadly in response. He knew neither of us really believed in that possibility anymore, but I guess he appreciated the vote of confidence nevertheless.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
The slow burn of whiskey in his throat brought Brian back to the here and now. His thoughts had strayed back almost three years. A lot had changed since then, and then again, nothing really. Justin had been taking it more slowly from then on, probably realizing that without a hand that he could use there would not be a Rage movie at all. It had taken longer than expected, but the day had finally arrived that Justin and Michael could present their creation to the world. Hopefully, the nervous tension would be gone after tonight. If not, Brian was formulating a back-up plan in the back of his mind.  
  
He and Justin were staying in a five star hotel that catered to its guests’ every wish and whose staff was trained to anticipate any that might arise. So far, they were immensely enjoying the comforts of their accommodation. Maybe they should take full advantage of the amenities and try out the outdoor spa. If they were still up for it after tonight’s program, Brian hoped to end their evening in the hot tub.  
  
But there were still hours of festivities to endure before that. After tonight’s main event, there would be a launch party at the Mondrian, to which only company staff people were invited, where Justin would need to make an appearance to collect his accolades. The last obligatory events would take place tomorrow. There was a big Q&A panel with the press scheduled for the early afternoon. Justin, Michael and Brian had gone over the program several times already, together with Anthony who headed the promotion team assigned to  _Rage_. If everything had gone according to Justin’s wishes, the whole PR part of the movie would have been handled by Brian and Kinnetik. But after hours of weighing the pros against the cons, Brian managed to persuade Justin to let the film company handle this vital aspect of the movie release. He’d argued that, after all, Kinnetik was an advertising firm that dealt with PR only on the periphery. Brian was of the opinion that his inexperience in PR should not be the hinging point at which the whole venture could shipwreck. He’d agreed however to stay on as an advisor and a liaison between the makers and financiers of the project. So the four of them – Justin, Michael, Brian and Anthony – had discussed possible questions, difficult reporters, hot topics and how to avoid most of them. Justin and Michael were given a crash course in how to answer questions diplomatically and how not to react emotionally when faced with an uncomfortable issue.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
Brian’s POV  
  
Anthony motioned for us all to take a seat around the table. Justin and I had been staying in Los Angeles for the last week, and Ben and Michael joined us yesterday evening. We’d all gone out and gotten shitfaced drunk in celebration of the beginning of the promotional tour. At least, that was our excuse. In a moment of alcohol-induced clarity, all of us had probably admitted that it was more about liquid courage than any actual celebrating. This morning however we had to go over some last critical questions as well as discuss potential problems that could arise during an interview.  
  
As we sat down opposite from Anthony, I glared at Justin who looked his usual sunny self despite having downed as many tequila shots as any of us. He looked so annoyingly sunny, in fact, that it hurt my eyes to look at him. Or maybe it was the gloating stare, only thinly veiled in dishonest sympathy that I had no problem to see through; all the way down to his perky core where I knew he just itched to make an age-related joke as soon as the opportunity would present itself. Of course Ben looked pretty energetic and awake as well, but he had steadfastly refused to join us in our senseless debauchery, so it came as no surprise. My only consolation was Michael who looked, mercifully, just as miserable as I felt. I nodded towards him, deliberately avoiding having to use my voice or making any other noises above a certain decibel level.  
  
Anthony looked us over, smirking at our partly disheveled appearance. He knew better than to comment though and jumped right in.  
  
“Gentlemen, I know we’ve touched upon this topic before, but this meeting is to instruct you in how to confront difficult questions and reporters who can be a pain in the ass.”  
  
I looked around the assembled men. Ben was nodding solemnly while Justin wore an annoyed expression on his face, and Michael squinted through narrowed eyes.  
  
“Why is this necessary? I think we all know how to say ‘No comment’,” Michael said, voice low, thank God.  
  
“Sometimes, a ‘no comment’ is just not going to cut it,” Anthony replied. “You can’t answer every inconvenient question with ‘no comment’. If you try, they’ll grill you. Some reporters are not interested in your life’s story, they’re looking for a scandal, something that will sell. They have it out for you and will turn the words around in your mouth. You’ll have to know how to keep cool when someone accuses you of just wanting to aggravate and provoke; that your sole purpose is to rile up the masses.”  
  
“That is such bullshit! What the fuck?!? This is not true,” Michael burst out.  
  
I cringed at the volume and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Michael,” I pleaded, imploring him to watch it.  
  
Anthony kept his cool and simply answered, “Like that! Questions just like that. Michael, that was innocent compared to what I’ve witnessed over the years.”  
  
We spent the next hour listening to the PR professional, trying to memorize everything he was telling us. Alright, so I may have listened with only one ear; but it wasn’t like I’d be the press’s primary target. Plus, I knew how to deal with nosy reporters. My lack of attentiveness was certainly  _not_  due to my brain telling my body it needed two more hours of sleep, at least.  
  
“If they imply that you’re in it just for the money, don’t deny it. Say, you hope it will turn out to be profitable financially, but stress that it’s not your main goal. You can control what kind of question you get asked next; try to steer them in the direction that’ll benefit you.”  
  
We all nodded; I mostly because I saw the others do it.  
  
“How do we sidestep a sensitive issue or something that we don’t know the answer to?” Justin asked.  
  
“Be polite. It’s difficult to write bad about someone who’s been nothing but charming and respectful. If you can’t answer a question, take it with humor, make a joke, don’t become flustered. It’s  _your_  show,  _they’re_  the guests, not the other way around. But for heaven’s sake, do your homework. Know the statistics. Corner them with facts.”  
  
It went on like this for another hour and a half before we were dismissed and free to go. Right on time too because as I was slowly throwing off the last vestiges of sluggishness, my stomach demanded the alcohol be replaced by food.  
  
“I feel like we’re going to war,” Justin said as we walked out of the building.  
  
“Well, you’re conquering new territory. In a way, you are,” I answered bluntly.  
  
Justin nodded before grinning up – and how the fuck could he change my whole mood with just one smile like that? – and said, “Will you be my caddy and carry my armaments for me?”  
  
“That’s golf, Sunshine,” I said. “You’re a disgrace to every country club brat on the face of earth.”  
  
“Oh,” he scrunched up his face, trying, and failing, to look bashful. “I cannot function on the remnants of tequila alone. Feed me,” he demanded.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
Giving up on those musings for the moment, Brian emerged from his ponderings once again. Tonight was Justin’s night, one that he had worked so hard for, and Brian wouldn’t allow anything to cloud the experience for his partner. Brian glanced around, gauging if he dared to emerge from the car. From behind the tinted glass of the limousine, he could see all the way along the red carpet to the entrance. The 200 foot long walkway was lined with reporters on both sides. There were enormous spotlights affixed at the top of the building, directed downward to illuminate the entrance area, but they wouldn’t have been necessary. A constant flashing of cameras was doing the job quite nicely.  
  
Brian realized only a few seconds had passed since Justin had left the limousine as he saw Justin blink a few times to get used to the light flashes, his smile rivaling the cameras in brightness. Behind him and closer to the double-winged entrance doors, Brian recognized Michael and Ben. His best friend was also sporting a wide grin as he seemed to answer questions thrown at him from all sides. Or maybe he was accepting praise. Either way, he seemed happy and grinned from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. Brian was happy for him. He knew that right this moment, a dream was coming true for his friend and Brian was happy to be there to witness it. It was well deserved.  
  
“Mr. Kinney?” The driver of the car pulled the door ajar, asking Brian if he was ready. Brian was.  
  
He glanced into the too narrow mirror that lined the door on the inside and adjusted his tie for the last time before nodding towards the uniformed man and getting out as well. He hadn’t yet put down a leg to the ground when he was enveloped by unimaginable noise that had before been muffled by the interior of the car. He took one step closer to Justin and the flashing cameras around them erupted with renewed vigor as Brian wrapped an arm around Justin’s middle.  
  
People all around them were shouting and screaming and the air buzzed with excitement. In the constant stream of cacophony Brian could make out only a few words. Most of them were shouting at them to turn this way or look in that direction and for the first time Brian noticed the masses of people behind the separated area. Hundreds and thousands of Rage fans had come to snap a picture of the movie’s creators and Brian swept the crowd, seeing a myriad of cameras raised above heads, hoping to get a few nice shots.  
  
Brian smiled; first at Justin, with a pleased grin on his face, then at the crowd, turning every which way, posing for the cameras as was expected from them. Tonight he was not part of the PR team, nor the real life person after which Rage was modeled, but simply Justin’s significant other. So any questions that were thrown their way as they slowly progressed to the doors were deflected with a charming smirk and a wave of a hand.  
  
“Mr. Taylor, look into the camera please?”  
  
“Justin, there are rumors that the movie will only be shown in a cut, non-X-rated version.”  
  
“Mr. Taylor, is it true the story is based on real life events?”  
  
“You’ll have opportunity to ask questions tomorrow,” Justin politely replied to every inquiring reporter again and again. Brian marveled at how Justin handled the press; Justin’s smile never leaving his face.  
  
Millions of other questions rained upon them even as they were almost disappearing into the building. Once inside, Justin breathed deeply through his nose. For a moment, Brian was afraid that Justin was using his breathing techniques to prevent a panic attack, but then he realized that his partner was simply trying to work through the rush of adrenaline. He smiled happily at Brian.  
  
“Wow, did you see all those people?”  
  
“I saw them,” Brian confirmed.  
  
“They’ve all come to see Rage? That’s… that’s unbelievable, Brian.”  
  
“Believe it,” Brian said, smiling huge himself.  
  
“Holy fuck, tell me I’m not dreaming,” Michael exclaimed with a silly grin on his face, joining Brian and Justin in the foyer of the movie theater.  
  
“Yes, Brian, tell him he’s not dreaming,” Ben chimed in. “No matter how often I do, he just doesn’t believe me.”  
  
“You have to pinch him,” Brian replied and reached out to do just that.  
  
Michael jumped away from him, squeaking loudly. “Hey!”  
  
A security man with an earpiece stepped up to them. He nodded curtly and seemed unsure whom to address. “Yes?” Brian asked, helping the man out.  
  
“There’s two cars arriving at the back entrance right this second. It’s your family, sir?” the man asked.  
  
Brian nodded. All of them were flown in to see the premiere of Rage. Michael said to the security guard, “I’ll go with you. Wouldn’t want you to think the circus arrived in town.” In Brian’s and Justin’s direction he said, “I hope Ma hasn’t dressed up for the occasion.”  
  
They all shared a laugh before Michael and Ben went off to greet the members of their family. Brian and Justin made their way over into the darkened theater. They’d meet the family later. They were assigned their places in a secluded balcony in the back of the area. The room was huge. Neither Justin nor Brian had ever been in a movie theater nearly as big. The screen was enormous and Justin started to doubt the state of his consciousness too. Slowly, the seats beneath them started to fill up. Justin glanced over the heads of the audience until he saw a familiar red wig, next to it a tall lanky man in surprisingly tasteful gold lamé. Emmett looked up right that second and, seeing Justin, smiled happily and held up two thumbs. Justin grinned back and waved.  
  
One by one, each head turned back towards the gallery in which Justin was sitting with Brian, all of them waving and smiling. Michael disengaged from the large group and motioned that he’d be coming up now too. Slowly, the room quieted down and the lights dimmed even more.  
  
“Jesus Fuck, what were we thinking?” Justin whispered in Brian’s ear. “We shouldn’t have flown them all in. What if they don’t like it?”  
  
“Relax,” Brian said. “It’s just the nerves talking.”  
  
“Easy for you to say. You’re not about to be judged here,” Justin replied.  
  
“You’re not either. The family will love it and what do you care about what some critic you don’t know has to say?” Brian answered.  
  
“I’m just nervous.”  
  
“I know. Now shush, I want to see the movie. I’ve read somewhere that it’s supposed to be amazing.”  
  
As the film company’s logo flashed on the gargantuan screen and slowly morphed into a giant version of the Rage logo in an animation trick, Justin smiled and mimicked Brian as he reached for the 3D glasses in front of him.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
Brian’s POV  
  
I grumpily admit defeat. The Rage release party is nothing like the one that I had organized in Babylon once. People eat, and drink, and gush in excited voices about the spectacle they just witnessed on the screen. Every couple of minutes, someone comes by our table to congratulate Justin on his accomplishment or to thank him for the privilege of working with him. And they should. He’s worked his ass off for this project.  
  
Justin had been adamant about keeping every bit of the process under his control, rejecting any help, sometimes to the point of irrationality. Sometimes I was tempted to convince him otherwise, but then I’d remember. Justin’s refusal to delegate even the tiniest side story or production aspect was due to his earlier experience. He’d been burned by Hollywood’s ways of dealing with things once before and he wouldn’t be fooled twice. His stance had always been that he wouldn’t compromise the edgy feel of the comic just to appease some bothered bible-thumping Republicans. And the only way he knew how to ensure that every idea was executed exactly as it was intended, was to keep a watchful eye on every aspect of the design and production chain. I occasionally called him a control freak, but he would always remind me that I wasn’t one to talk on that front, so I’d quickly shut up. To keep the peace, of course; not because he had a point. Because he didn’t.  
  
I could never be as controlling as he became when the production moved from simple drawn boards to actual computer animation. Justin had to learn not only the terms and language of animation basics, but also the correct use of the various software programs that were being put to use, which for a while had involved traveling to New York weekly to oversee the process on workstation computers. He taught himself the essentials of rendering images and the art of modeling human faces. He took classes to learn how to code animation variables, read a ton of books on 3D animation techniques and editing even though they had specialists who did the actual work. Justin insisted on sitting in the chair next to them, be it simple color testing or sound mixing. Sometimes, we would spend whole meals with him talking to me about his work, and I wouldn’t understand one single word. He might as well have been speaking in Mandarin. Backwards. But it was strangely stimulating to listen to his passionate monologue. More than once would I come up with my own amazing ideas for ads while listening to him. His obsessive behavior made for very slow progress but it had paid off. He deserves all the praise he is getting. Some even drop a not so subtle hint and express their wish to work with him again on another project, should there be one.  
  
All in all, the evening is a success. The food is excellent and so is the atmosphere. People seem to be having fun. There is a dance floor where a few couples move to corny old love songs that I occasionally make fun of, just to annoy Justin and because I want to see how often I can get him to roll his eyes in one hour. But for a good part of the last hour he’s been mostly ignoring me, bringing the count down to a new low. Fucker! Probably figured out I was timing him. Alright, so maybe he’s also exhausted, having danced with his mother, then with Debbie, and with his sister before dancing with Daphne – twice. First one to celebrate and the second for old times’ sake, as she put it. All the excitement and nervousness drained him and he’s back to enjoying the party from his seat at our table for the moment.  
  
Daphne holds up a constant torrent of chatter, entertaining Justin and me and monopolizing the conversation. “So, do you think you’ll have time tomorrow to go on a Starline tour with me?”  
  
Oh, god, not her too. Every point she’s ever earned with me goes flying out the window right this moment. She’s a closet geek! Wait, why does that surprise me?  
  
“Sorry, Daph, I don’t think so. We fly back early evening. The morning is booked with interviews, and later we have to attend this press conference sort of thingy,” Justin answers, relating to her our plans for tomorrow. “But you can grab Debbie and Emmett and go with them. I think I heard them make plans to sneak into Liz Taylor’s former house.”  
  
Daphne tries to look sullen. “You know what,” her face suddenly brightens and her eyes sparkle. “Soon we can have celebrity tours in Pittsburgh too. What with you and Andy Warhol – that’s already two.” She grins wide, like someone who is very proud of his or her most recent idea, never mind that it’s completely ridiculous.  
  
“May I remind you that the press has yet to voice their opinion on Rage? For all we know, they could totally trash it tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh, puhleeze, if they were only half as awed by what they saw tonight as I was, they’ll rave,” she diffuses Justin’s concerns.  
  
“You really think so?” he asks, turning slightly red from the praise. I pretend to sip from the flute of champagne – disgusting, by the way, thanks for asking – and watch. He’s twenty-eight years old and he can still flush crimson. If I was actually drinking this swill, I’d probably be tempted to call it cute. As I still have all my manly wits with me though, I’ll simply not comment on it at all and I definitely won’t say that he reminds me of his seventeen year old self.  
  
“Stop fishing for compliments already. It’s unbecoming. You know you did great. He did, didn’t he, Brian?” she asks me and turns around to look at me.  
  
I’m slightly surprised that Daphne still remembers that I am close, and I raise my glass and nod once in acknowledgment as much as in agreement. She doesn’t seem to require verbal participation from me at the moment.  
  
“Gosh, Justin,” Daphne continues, “you’re not even thirty yet and your entire life is about to change.”  
  
“Another thing Brian and I have in common,” Justin nods.  
  
Daphne scrunches up her face, not understanding. I’m sure my face shows confusion too as I squint. Great! Prematurely gray hair  _and_  wrinkles. Does he always have to talk in riddles? He knows nobody can follow his weird logic. He feels superior because of that, that exasperating knowing grin tugging at his mouth corners again. If it wasn’t so entertaining to just be in his company, it’d be really irritating.  
  
Justin launches into an explanation of sorts, “His life also changed forever before he turned thirty.”  
  
Something in my mind clicks and I roll my eyes as the puzzlement clears. I shake my head from one side to the other. Daphne still doesn’t seem to get it. She looks quizzically from Justin to me and back again.  
  
Justin chuckles and clears it up for her, “He met me, Daph!”  
  
I stop shaking my head and say, “That was cheap, Sunshine. And cheesy!” I add in amused disapproval while Daphne shakes with laughter and has to hold her belly.  
  
Justin tries to glare at her for all of two seconds, but then laughs heartily too. Children. Aahh, to be young again. No, stop! I did not just think that. I actually sip from the by now lukewarm champagne to suppress this thought.  
  
After being able to breathe normally again, Justin suddenly extends a hand towards me. “Come on, dance with me,” he says.  
  
“I thought you were tired,” I object.  
  
“Not to dance with you. Never too tired for that.”  
  
“I’m not dancing to some disgustingly romantic song like this,” I say. Justin predictably releases a groan at my bringing up the old bone of contention again.  
  
“You’ve danced to much more ridiculous songs than this,” he contradicts with an arched brow. Now that’s just wrong. That is  _my_  trademark.  
  
I look at him, trying my hand at an unreadable facial expression. “Oh, right. I sometimes forget you remember.”  
  
His smile flickers for a fraction of a second before it increases in voltage. There’s a look passing between us that nobody else is privy to or would understand. I don’t know what to call it myself, but whenever we reach a moment like this, I feel the urge to pull him closer. I grab his hand that he’s still holding out to me and do just that. He promptly lands on my lap sideways. His eyes close and he leans into me to press a kiss on my face that lands somewhere in the vicinity of my cheekbone, just beneath the eye. His lips are dry and soft and the breeze of his exhale ruffles my eyelashes lightly.  
  
“So, what about that dance?” he asks, almost whispers.  
  
I nod and he stands up, lurching me upward by our still clasped hands. We walk out onto the dance floor together where I spin him in a semi-circle and wrap an arm around his middle. We sway to the music, each of us hanging on to his own thoughts, reflecting on the highs of the day.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
  
They were about to return to their table when Michael walked up to them. He grinned so happily, his smile was infectious. Brian thought he looked like a kid in a candy story on Christmas.  
  
“Some guys are meeting up to go to this party afterwards. It’s in Harvey’s house. You’re going to join us, aren’t you?” Michael asked.  
  
Brian threw a side glance to Justin, gauging his intentions. The blond only shrugged and Brian ended up saying, “We’ll meet you there. Justin and I need to go back to the hotel and change first.” He looked down on the both of them. They were still wearing their festive attire. No matter how hot they looked in them – these were no party clothes and Brian itched to change into something a little more comfortable.  
  
“Alright,” Michael agreed. “See you two later then.”  
  
He went off and Justin and Brian made their way towards the exit. It was a slow progression, because they had to stop several times so Justin could say goodbye and accept last congratulations. Eventually they made it to the car and into their hotel suite.  
  
“You mind if I take a quick shower?” Justin asked, already losing his jacket.  
  
“You mind if I join you?” Brian asked back.  
  
Justin assumed a mock serious expression. “Hmm, it depends. Will you wash my back and all those other hard to reach places?” he asked, not able to suppress a grin.  
  
Brian’s answer was to step out of his pants and push Justin into the generous shower enclosure.  
  
Almost an hour later, Brian stood in front of the full length mirror, turning left and right, trying to assess if his outfit was to his liking. He stretched his neck, looking around the rim to see Justin’s reaction. “What do you thi—” he began and fell silent when his eyes fell on his partner.  
  
Justin lay spread on the massive bed, legs hanging down from the futon, eyes closed. He was fully dressed in party clothes and deep asleep, the exhaustion finally taking its toll. Brian cocked his head and looked his partner over. He sighed and unbuttoned the shirt he just had put on and threw it over a chair. Walking to the bed, he yanked Justin’s leg up onto it and pulled off his shoes. Next he pulled off Justin’s pants and pulled the cover over his sleeping body. Justin didn’t move once. Brian then threw off the last of his own clothes and stretched out beside the blond. He forgot to call Michael and tell him they wouldn’t be coming after all.  
  
Justin was nervous. Even though he was rested, and in spite of the previous evening being a huge success, he couldn’t help but fidget. He wished Brian was there and he didn’t care that he sounded like a little girl who’d lost her mommy. But Brian’s chair remained empty and Justin hoped his partner would hurry. He looked down the long panel table. To his left sat Michael and Ben; Justin noticed a bead of sweat on Michael’s temple and felt weirdly comforted by it. Knowing he was not the only one who was tense and slightly panicky calmed him a little. Beside Ben sat two men one of whom represented the animation company and the other was one of the major financiers of the project. The chair to Justin’s right was currently empty and reserved for Brian. In the seat next to it sat Anthony, the head of the film promotion campaign. When he noticed Justin looking, he nodded and smiled encouragingly. Justin nodded back and hoped his outward appearance would deceive the audience about how he felt on the inside.  
  
Justin swept the room, his eyes repeatedly straying to the door on the far right which unfortunately remained closed while he watched it. To distract himself, he let his eyes wander over the assembled reporters and photographers. Occasionally, a camera flash would go off, but Justin was so used to it by now, he barely even noticed them anymore. Anthony had tried to explain to him which journalist was reporting for which newspaper or station, but the information just blended together in Justin’s head and he’d given up on listening.  
  
When the host of the event got to his feet and made a short announcement that the Q&A panel would now start, Justin glanced towards the door in the back of the room once more. He listened with one ear as the speaker went on to explain the rules of the Q&A session and resigned to starting his first panel discussion without his partner.  
  
The preliminary questions were easy and friendly enough. Michael and Justin took turns answering, letting the other men explain details where necessary.  
  
“Mr. Taylor,” one female reporter asked when it was her turn to speak, “It’s true that you had a couple of paintings in a show in New York several years ago, isn’t it? I understand you received some very flattering reviews for your work. Why did you abandon your art career?”  
  
Justin leaned forward to the mic and answered honestly, “I’m not sure I did abandon it. I still paint, I still draw. I simply set priorities – Rage being one of them.”  
  
“Would you explain why?” the same woman asked.  
  
Justin thought about it for a second, remembering a talk where he’d tried to explain the very same thing to Brian. He tried to recall how he’d phrased it back then. “I’ve never been of the opinion that art should only be accessible to a privileged circle of elitists. I do consider the work on Rage art as well, even though not many of the art critics do. But it is the same process; at least it is in my case. I’d be hard pressed to see a difference in effort, in emotion, or energy that goes into creating graphic art when compared to a painting, for example. Both can show a unique technique of a brush or pencil stroke, color, or style that is characteristic for an individual artist. Both have a message. Maybe one is easier understood than the other. But it doesn’t make the message less valuable.”  
  
„So, basically, the process of creation is the same whether it’s comic or a movie?” another reporter asked, stepping up to the microphone in the center aisle.  
  
“Is the question still directed at Mr. Taylor?” the host asked back which the reporter affirmed.  
  
“If you’re referring to the personal aspect of the process, then yes, it basically is. Drawing is as much about valor and courage as is painting or anything else that we pin the ‘creative’ badge on. It’s about having the confidence to put that first damn line on paper, about having the guts to soil the whiteness of the sheet or the canvas. That’s how we all start out: terrified. Terrified of doing it wrong. Terrified of critique. Eventually you learn that in art, there’s no such thing as right or wrong. That’s the part that you become addicted to.” Justin relaxed visibly and breathed a bit easier. As long as the discussion stayed on topics he felt comfortable and confident discussing, all was good.  
  
“And the critique?” the host dug deeper.  
  
“That’s where you understand the complexities of a love-hate-relationship,” Justin answered, smiling charmingly. “If you don’t learn to deal with critique, you’ll never find happiness in your chosen profession.” He didn’t tell the audience that the only people whose opinion mattered to him was Brian’s and the family’s.  
  
A few questions followed that were directed at Anthony before Justin was addressed again.  
  
“Justin,” the next person – a pretty young blonde – asked, “Where is Rage? Why isn’t he up there with you?” She smiled brightly, but somewhat bashfully. Justin couldn’t help but grin back; he recognized her from an interview he’d given about a month ago where Brian had been present too. She probably had a major crush on Rage’s alter ego.  
  
“He’ll join us as soon as he’s finished with his interview. It’s just taking a little longer than expected,” Justin answered, hoping it wouldn’t take much longer.  
  
The young woman nodded in response and sat back down. Another reporter stepped up to the microphone and asked, “Why did you decide to go with animated film instead of one with real actors?”  
  
Michael looked at Justin and Justin motioned for him to answer. “We had this discussion already, a couple years ago,” Michael began. While he explained about Brett Keller and the consequential failure of the project, Justin flashed back to his first encounter with Hollywood politics. He’d been angry and disappointed then that the Rage movie hadn’t been made. Now he realized it had been a blessing in disguise. When Michael finished filling the audience in on the facts, Justin added, “Animation is stylistically closer to its drawn original and has the added bonus of giving us a greater cinematographical freedom.”  
  
“There’s been critical voices, accusing you of using the animated format to sidestep censorship,” one young journalist in the audience perked up.  
  
“I don’t follow that logic,” Justin said, tensing slightly.  
  
“Animated movies don’t fall under censorship all that often,” the same reporter stated. “If you had used real actors, do you think there would still be as much graphic sex in it as in the finished product?”  
  
“Well, first of all,” Anthony answered, cutting Justin off, “animated movies are mostly made for a younger audience which would explain fewer interventions from the American rating system. Animation films aimed at an adult audience are still relatively rare and often grouped together into a category of X-rated movies.”  
  
“But didn’t Rage receive an X-rating?”  
  
“Yes, it did,” Justin confirmed, getting aggravated at the attempts to push him into a corner and trying to keep his voice level. “However, I wouldn’t refer to it as pornographic or lewd. Animation has helped us not hide behind a black fade out or a pan to the ever present fireplace; maybe even added to the visual style of the movie. But I reject the notion that the X-rated scenes don’t serve a purpose in the storytelling. There  _is_  a difference between sex and porn and I don’t think we’ve crossed that particular line with Rage. To come back to the initial question: Yes, animated characters are more pliable and unreserved, but only in the sense that by drawing these scenes I was not left with a guilty feeling. No actor’s image has been harmed by his involvement in the movie. Nobody’s career suffered from playing a gay character.” He couldn’t help adding this jab at Hollywood politics, adrenalin fueling his words.  
  
Justin breathed deeply a couple of times. He berated himself for almost losing his temper for a moment, but the X-rating was a sensitive issue for him. It was the reason the first attempt at a Rage movie had been cancelled and Justin had been adamant about keeping every one of those scenes. He even refused to distribute cut versions of Rage and had insisted on putting an according clause in his contract. Rage would either be seen in the version he and Michael intended it to be seen or not at all.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
Brian’s POV  
  
I’m getting more nervous with every passing minute. Need I say that I hate feeling nervous? Justin’s out there, facing a firing squad, so to say, while I’m stuck in here with this incompetent moron of a reporter. If only she would hurry; I heard the host open the Q&A session several minutes ago and where’s a personal assistant if you need one? The lady that’s supposed to interview me flirts more than she asks questions. Doesn’t this woman know that my partner, my  _gay_  partner, is sitting out there? God, I even tried rubbing my face with my left hand a lot, so that she’d see the damn ring. She’s either oblivious or stupid. On second thought, she could be both.  
  
It’s not that I don’t think Justin can’t handle the press by himself; in fact, I know he can. It’s just that I don’t feel comfortable being back here while he’s out there.  
  
At first, I only had the impression that she was stalling. Now I am certain of it. If she flutters her eyelashes at me once more, I swear I’m outta here – bad press or not. In the back of my mind I contemplate telling her that the only chance she has of raising my interest is if she was able to grow a cock in the next five seconds. And even then I’d have to tell her that she’s about seven years late.  
  
I hear some sort of commotion in the adjoining room; it’s the hall where the press conference is held. Several people talking at once, and Justin’s slightly raised voice over the microphone. Through the padded walls, I can’t exactly make out the words, but I think I can hear a tense quality in the muffled sounds that reach me. My own heart rate picks up when a rush of adrenalin hits my blood stream. It’s almost as if I can feel Justin’s agitation and my own stomach tingles uncomfortably.  
  
I end the interview with a few clipped words and excuse myself, using the panel as an apology. Before I can walk over into the hall, I’m held back by the make-up artist. She insists she has to put some non-reflecting powder on my face and I tell her to fucking hurry.  
  
Here, closer to the door that separates this room from the press, I can make out the words pretty well. I can hear Justin trying to defend himself. Those fucktards! I’m about to lunge through the door when I hear him end his speech with a genius stab at Hollywood. Huh. Whaddaya know. Maybe he’s not that helpless after all. A grin of pure pride spreads on my face.  
  
As I stand there, suffering through a ridiculous process of an oversized puff dabbing at my face, I hear a reporter ask Justin if he’d ever thought that his creation would be made into a movie. I listen to the answer.  
  
“I certainly hoped it would,” Justin answers immodestly. That’s right, Sunshine. Don’t play coy. Leave the being humble part to Michael. As expected, Michael picks up the statement and adds some thoughts of his own. I’m only half listening as the fucking powder thing is finally taken away and the make-up artist holds a mirror up to me. I run a hand through my hair for good measure and grab for the door, inhaling deeply one last time before turning the knob. It’s like walking into a wall of suffocating heat, the many floodlights and spots and cameras and various other technical equipment doing their best to rev up the temperature in the room. But in the next moment my eyes find him and my focus is deterred, as it usually is whenever he’s close. I’m not sure how he does that. I’ve always been meaning to ask, only I’m sure he’d just smile that shit-eating grin of his without saying a word or giving anything away. Like he knows something I don’t.  
  
I’m comforted somewhat when I see his eyes lose their concentration when they focus solely on me. After hours of dealing with the press and answering questions in stuffy rooms, my outfit – though still immaculate of course – probably showed the first signs of exertion: I had the sleeves of my white shirt rolled up and I’m sure my casual black slacks are slightly creased from sitting for so long, but they still caress my hips in a way that makes Justin’s brain focus more on his nether regions; judging by the ‘horny’ sign, blinking in his eyes in flashy neon colors. I’d make fun of him about how ridiculously predictable his reaction to me still is; only I don’t want it to change. Ever.  
  
I confidently step up to the raised podium and to the empty chair. Before I sit down, I lean down to Justin and whisper, “I know what you’re thinking.” I smirk knowingly and kiss the corner of his mouth, triggering a frenzy of camera flashes and almost hysterical applause. Fucking freaks!  
  
I’m fairly certain that if it wasn’t for the dozens of cameras turned on us, Justin would have rolled his eyes. As it is, he simply smiles a blinding smile and, through his teeth, mutters in my direction, “You just  _have_  to make a big entrance, don’t you?” I only shrug a, ‘How long have you known me?’  
  
The reporters, ever the predictable bunch, of course focus on us immediately. “How does it feel to be married to Rage?” Justin is asked. Now  _I_  want to roll my eyes.  
  
My eyes fall onto the notepad on the table in front of me and I pull it towards me, intending to scribble down a response for him. Something along the lines of, ‘Great! I get an invigorating fuck on our very own version of a restorative bed every night.’ Unfortunately, he’s too quick with an answer of his own. “We’re not married yet,” he replies impulsively and I groan silently. Wrong answer, Sunshine.  
  
While the reporter glances irritably at our rings – yeah, good luck trying to figure that one out – another fires the expected counter question, “You’re planning to?” followed by a bit of additional information, “New York finally recognizes gay marriage.” Does he think we don’t know?  
  
“We live in West Virginia,” Justin supplies evasively, trying to get out of being asked to explain.  
  
“So, that’s a no?”  
  
Justin looks helplessly at me. He has his own philosophy on marriage and so do I. He’s not in the mood to explain the significance of our rings. I’m not sure someone with a limited perspective on all things worldly would understand.  
  
“That’s neither a yes nor a no,” I answer which results in several raised hands in the audience, indicating a follow-up question to that. Justin’s hand moves almost invisibly and I see  _‘K.M.N.’_  appear on the pad. Kill me now. Yeah, I don’t think I’ll have to. I think the press is just about to. “We don’t need marriage,” I try again.  
  
I don’t come far when I am interrupted by a call coming from somewhere in the room. I can’t make out the speaker because the volume has risen and people are all talking at once. I spare a second to marvel at the interest journalists have in someone’s personal life, but if they start with Christian morals or family values now, I swear they’re gonna witness a case of spontaneous combustion.  
  
Using the mic, a female reporter that looks kinda familiar finally makes herself heard. “But weren’t you marching with the marriage equality demonstration outside the City Hall?”  
  
Jesus Fucking Christ! Someone’s done her homework. I express my thoughts on the piece of paper in front of me, scrawling  _‘JFC!!!’_  on it. Justin smiles tight-lipped and understands it as a cue to take over.  
  
“Yes,” he confirms. I can read on his face what he’s thinking. That he remembers my objections to going – I may have teased him about it and maybe poked fun of him too from time to time, but it didn’t help. So in the end it seemed easier to just graciously allow him to go. Of course  _that_  meant that I was forced to walk there right beside him and he still gets that smug look on his face when he remembers it; like it was one of his triumphs. It wasn’t. It was simple logic. Since he seems to attract trouble like honey attracts flies, I  _had_  to go with him to make sure he didn’t make it into the ‘trampled to death’ list which would be so like him. Once he’s famous and all, I’ll at least have an excuse to hire a bodyguard. I’m not above hiring a stalker too – just to merit the need for a bodyguard. Little shit couldn’t take care of himself if his life (or mine) depended on it.  
  
I may also have expressed my reservations a few, overseeable number of times. First at the weather (it was pissing cats and dogs after all), next at the coordination of the event (did they have a monkey high on pot organize the whole damn thing?), and then I may have politely pointed out the inanity of the entire enterprise. Strangely, whenever Justin tells this story, he likes to use words like, “Brian groused, griped, and grumbled all the way and moaned at absolutely everything” to which I always reply that his false recollection of the situation clearly is a symptom of his continued state of addled memory. And the grin on his face now tells me that he’s remembering the day the legislation passed. I may have kissed the living breath out of him when we heard the news on TV, but I don’t remember that clearly anymore because the sex that came after that demanded a very huge portion of my brain activity, letting everything else fade.  
  
Coming to, I listen to his abridged explanation. “ _We_  do not need or want marriage,” Justin stresses, continuing, “but that doesn’t mean that those who do, should be denied the right to have it.”  
  
Very elegantly put; couldn’t agree more. I nod in accordance.  
  
Several reporters attempt to tie in with the statement, but neither I nor Justin feel like discussing the topic further. Eventually, we politely ask for the questions to focus back on the reason of us all being here.  
  
“Mr. Kinney, what do you think of the finished movie?” a question comes.  
  
“It was marginally less boring than the last meeting of the Congress I watched on C-SPAN, so I give them credit for that,” I reply dryly and a few chuckles from the audience can be heard.  
  
“Are you proud of the result?”  
  
That is very probably the understatement of the century, but I answer nevertheless, “I’m proud of my best friend. Michael never wavered in his enthusiasm and belief that it could be done. And Justin,” I pause trying to find the right words, “Justin made it all happen by sheer perseverance. Yeah, you could say that I’m proud.”  
  
“You were involved in the publicity campaign for Rage?” When I confirm, the journalist asks further, “What was it like to work for your partner?”  
  
For all the world, Justin appears to be doodling absentmindedly, but from my vantage point I can see him scribbling furiously on the paper. A second later, he turns the pad ever so slightly in my direction. ‘I swear to god, if you make a bottoming joke, you won’t see my cock for a week.’ While I read, he smiles blindingly at the audience, looking calm and relaxed.  
  
I suppress a grin and shrug a little in response to the question. “I sometimes hire him on a freelance basis to help with the art design of an advertising campaign. It was a nice change of scene to reverse positions and to call him boss for once.” There. That was subtle enough, wasn’t it? Though I may have accompanied the remark with a sly grin so that the double-entendre wouldn’t be lost on anyone.  
  
Justin shakes his head and lowers it so I wouldn’t notice, but I can see a grin tugging at his lips. The reporters are all scribbling furiously on their notepads and grinning from ear to ear.  
  
Maybe it is the relaxed atmosphere or the fact that the topic has somehow steered to sexual innuendo again that prompts the next journalist to ask, “How do you react to critics who say a movie like Rage should not be released around a traditional family holiday as Christmas?”  
  
I write down on the notepad, ‘Here we go. The crowds with the torches are just around the corner.’ Justin kicks me lightly under the table.  
  
“Well,” Justin answers, “Rage – and I don’t mean just the movie but the story that is being told – is reality in  _my_  family. I don’t know what world those critics live in, but maybe it’s time they cleaned their glasses and adjusted their views on family-friendly entertainment.” Before another tumult can break out, Justin continues, voice raised over the looming agitation, “Rage is not a gay porn story but a story about life. Yes, it’s a typical hero tale, but at the same time very real and honest. It’s sad in parts but it leaves you on an uplifting note, with a message that is, essentially, very human.”  
  
I turn my head and look at him. Actually, I stare. In amazed disbelief. He’s managed to circumnavigate a potentially hot topic with an ease that leaves me completely speechless. And also kinda hard. This conference thing needs to end; and soon!  
  
“Which is?” the host asks Justin to elaborate.  
  
“That the really important things in life you can’t buy or force or escape. You cannot make people into something that deep inside they’re not. You cannot escape from what you’re meant to become. It’s about standing up for what you are and what you believe in. And it’s also about love; about finding it in unexpected places. You can’t force nature. What needs to happen will happen.”  
  
Now he’s just showing off, waxing on poetic. ‘Come to an end,” I write, ‘and I’ll promise you a satisfying end too.’ His arm slips down and to my inner thigh, squeezing hard too close to the center; though whether in warning or some sort of foreplay, I’m not sure.  
  
“Is this a reflection on your world views or belief system?”  
  
Justin has to think about that, wonderment in his eyes. “Huh, I’m not sure. I guess I’ve never thought about it before. Could be.”  
  
For the next few minutes, he almost seems to zone out, his eyes focused on some empty point on the far wall. I don’t ask; he’ll tell me later. He always does. Instead, I listen to Mikey sum up the storyline from the movie, “We basically took the story from the first issue, where Rage makes his first appearance, and expanded it a little beyond what we’ve told in the comic book already. Mostly, we created some additional background story on Rage’s alter ego; explored his troubles in dealing with his powers, explained how they came to be. Simply put, stuff we haven’t tapped into in the comic books yet.”  
  
“Will there be sequels to the movie?”  
  
The question revives Justin and he leans forward to answer, “Since we settled on a monthly issue, we’ve released almost fifty issues, not counting special editions. If you ask me, they’re all worth a big screen. But I may be partial on that.” He doesn’t tell the audience that he is currently negotiating a follow-up story with the film company.  
  
The audience chuckles a little and shifts their attention to the next asker. Thankfully, some ten minutes or so later, the host of the event announces that it is time to come to a close. He chooses a journalist among the many raised hands to ask the last question.  
  
A non-descript man around Justin’s age steps up to the microphone and asks, “Are all people who worked on the project with you gay?”  
  
I wonder how that could possibly be important for whatever article he’s planning on writing. Justin too is slightly surprised by the question, but he answers, “I honestly don’t know. We tend to hire based on talent, not sexual orientation.”  
  
I grin proudly at him for his refined stab at the Hollywood industry. Before we can gather our wits and rise to leave the table, the host asks if anyone would like to say some parting words. Everyone glances at each other and eventually I lean forward to my mic one last time. “Quite frankly, I don’t understand why in the year of 2011 the release of a movie with a gay superhero is still such a big deal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the creators and film crew members are flattered by the attention.” The other men at the table all nod their accord. “To my knowledge, Rage, to this day, remains the only published openly gay comic book hero. I know that one of the hopes for this movie is that it will change that,” from the corner of my eye, I see Justin nod his head again, “and I encourage every artist and writer out there to come out and play. I believe I speak for my friend and my partner when I say they wouldn’t mind at all to share their fans,” I close and Justin and Michael beam. Mission accomplished.  
  
A round of applause erupts from the audience that follows us out of the room. Once outside the range of cameras or microphones, Justin stops and leans against the closest wall, letting his head rest on the cool surface.  
  
“I’m exhausted,” he states needlessly.  
  
“We’re going home. I have a car outside already waiting to take us to the airport.”  
  
Justin smiles gratefully at me. “That’s why I keep you around,” he jokes, his voice sounding tired.  
  
“I thought  _I_  was keeping  _you_  around,” I reply, worrying my forehead.  
  
“Nuh-uh.” Justin shakes his head. “That’s only what I let you think.” He lets himself be guided towards the side exit, leaning heavily on my shoulder. His eyes almost close; he suddenly feels very sluggish.  
  
“Oh, I see. I’m happy we cleared that up,” I continue the trivial banter as much out of habit of bickering as to keep him awake. I almost lift him into the backseat of the waiting car.  
  
“Yeah, happy…” Justin almost sighs contentedly and drifts off.  
  
I get in after him and pull his head onto my shoulder as soon as I’m comfortable, placing a kiss on his hair. The worst was over now. Time to go home and relax. At least until the next thing comes along and tries to pull us into different sides of the world. Not that it would ever succeed, but I have to give the universe points for still trying. It’s almost as tenacious as Justin. Almost.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
They had spent so much time on airplanes lately, they had developed a routine: As long as it took for the passengers to embark and for the plane to depart, Justin would stay cuddled up to Brian, both of them needing the time to come down from whatever nerve-wracking meeting they had been to. Or to simply gather strength for upcoming appointments. Once the ‘Fasten your seat belts!’ sign was off though, they would disengage. Brian would take out his laptop and brood over some campaign or go over the notes Cynthia had sent him while Justin would immerse himself in the Rage project. There was so little predictability and routine in their lives, it actually felt comfortable to follow this mundane monotony for however long their flight was.  
  
Today however, they deviated from the program a little when Justin asked the stewardess for a drink and leaned back against the backrest of the comfortable first class chair. After six years, one month, and one week, the work was finally over. Justin had been working himself ragged a lot of the time. Seeing him relax and enjoy some free time was like a welcome breath of fresh air after being trapped inside for too long. Brian smiled. It was nice to see his partner so at ease.  
  
His smile widened when Justin pulled the retractable table closer to him and rummaged through his carrier bag, producing a sketch book. Brian hadn’t seen it for too long. If he hadn’t known that it was simply for lack of time, he’d seriously have worried whether Justin had abandoned his hobby completely. His only reassurance had been the knowledge that Justin was still packing the book in reaching distance for every journey that they undertook.  
  
Brian watched from the corner of an eye as the pencil in Justin’s hand flitted ably across the paper. Justin noticed him staring and said after a few minutes, “What?”  
  
Brian shrugged nonchalant. “Nothing. You’re drawing,” he stated unnecessarily.  
  
Now it was Justin’s turn to shrug. “Just doodling.”  
  
The corners of Brian’s mouth turned up in a very faint smile in recognition. And Justin’s mouth creased in a smile as well. Brian made a big show of returning to his work. He kept watching Justin, but pretended not to. He even inserted an occasional sigh or grunt to make his deceit believable. Secretly, he continued to observe as Gus’s face slowly took form on the white sheet of paper. Brian was in awe of how Justin could recreate Gus’s facial expressions from memory.  
  
He was drawing the one where Gus smiled lopsidedly, with mischief twinkling in his eyes. When Justin was almost done and was only adding a few additional shadings and details, Brian gave up pretense and studied the drawing openly.  
  
“It’s good,” he said. He’d never been very extravagant with words, but relied on Justin to know how to interpret them.  
  
Justin glanced up from his work and smiled brightly. “Thanks.” He returned to the drawing, smearing some graphite with the pad of a finger.  
  
Brian felt compelled to explain, “You know that when I say ‘good’ what I actually mean is ‘fucking brilliant’, right?”  
  
Brian saw Justin smile brightly again, but Justin didn’t look up this time. “Thanks,” he repeated again instead. He then picked up the sketch book and held it away, studying it appraisingly through narrowed eyes. He cocked his head and looked at it first from the right, then from the left.  
  
Brian couldn’t believe it. Justin would always remain his own most severe critic. He could make tons of money, and would once the Rage movie would take off, if the public interest, articles, and controversial discussion were any indication. He already was making a shitload from interviews and photo shootings and merchandise alone. Justin was headed directly for fame and fortune, probably without even realizing it because he didn’t care for any of it. He enjoyed having money of his own and not being dependent on Brian anymore. He enjoyed having enough of it to be able to fulfill every wish he might come up with, but his dreams had not changed. And his aspirations had remained modest. Unless Brian forced him into a Tom Tailor or a Hugo Boss outfit, he still liked to shop at Old Navy. No matter how much Brian insisted, Justin still wore sneakers, ignoring the soft suede loafers Brian had gotten for him. He’d even combine the damn Converse with a pinstriped suit if Brian wouldn’t put a veto on the outfit. And if it wasn’t for Brian’s diva tendencies, he’d still fly Economy.  
  
All the little things that made up the unique Justin package were still firmly in place and stood in such stark contrast to the sophisticated and mature image that the public had of him. Brian loved that he knew the real Justin and often marveled at how easily Justin rebounded from the public image back to his old self. He didn’t allow himself to get carried away by the attention the press was currently bestowing upon him and remained the same Justin that Brian had fallen for more than a decade ago.  
  
“I think I’m going to frame it. It’s for Lindsay,” Justin said, interrupting Brian’s musings.  
  
“She’ll love it,” Brian promised. He knew Lindsay would appreciate the reminder of the sweet little Gus. Especially in a time when his hormones were making a debut appearance, turning that same sweet little boy into a moody monster whose queen-outs rivaled his father’s.  
  
“I hope so,” Justin simply answered. He signed his initials and the date in the right-hand corner and, closing the cover of the sketch block, stashed it carefully into the inside pocket on his bag.  
  
“You want to give it to her as a Christmas present?” Brian asked.  
  
“Maybe. Probably,” Justin corrected himself. He stretched, pushing his arms over his head, and yawned wide. Reclining back into his seat, he looked at the screen of Brian’s notebook. There were several windows with complicated charts open and Justin asked, “You working on something important?”  
  
“This is important, yes, but I’m not currently working on it,” Brian replied.  
  
“Good,” Justin said and pulled up his feet. He squatted and fidgeted in his seat, assuming a position Brian’s muscles were protesting simply from watching. But Justin seemed as comfortable as could be. He pushed a little at Brian’s shoulder, turning it slightly sideways to accommodate himself in the thus formed hollow. Justin let his head rest against Brian’s neck, feeling Brian’s pulse against his own temple. Lastly, he reached for Brian’s arm somewhere underneath him and wrapped it around himself in place of a blanket. Brian was suddenly reminded of a cat that strolled the grounds until it found the most comfortable place to rest, no matter how inconvenient it seemed for its master.  
  
“Continue,” Justin said, closing his eyes.  
  
Brian chuckled. “Continue with what?”  
  
“Whatever it was you were doing. Working. Whatever. Ignore me,” Justin replied, not bothering to open his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, because you’re so easy to ignore breathing down my neck,” Brian complained teasingly.  
  
“Oh, sorry, I’ll stop,” Justin said, but didn’t move a muscle to dislodge himself from his position half on top of his partner.  
  
Brian reached out with his other arm and closed the laptop. If Justin was taking a break, he would too. Ted’s statistics could wait till tomorrow.  
  
A stewardess passed them about half an hour later. Smiling, she bent down and whispered, “Sir, would you like a blanket?”  
  
Brian nodded and smiled gratefully back at her as she brought one over. He was about to spread it over Justin and himself when Justin suddenly spoke. Brian startled a little; he had assumed Justin had fallen asleep.  
  
“I just remembered something,” Justin said and Brian perked up at that. Even though it’s been six years since Justin’s accident that had resulted in him forgetting his entire life, Justin still had those episodes on occasion. Though, admittedly, they had grown very scarce in the more recent years.  
  
“What?” Brian prompted him to explain.  
  
“We’ve never been away together,” Justin said with slight wonderment to his voice.  
  
Brian furrowed his brows. “Sure we have,” he protested, remembering the many times they had travelled to Los Angeles together.  
  
“But that was all work related,” Justin objected. “Even when we took off an evening or a weekend sporadically, work was still on our minds.” Justin lifted his head from Brian’s shoulders to look at his partner. “I meant a real vacation. No phones, no conference calls, no computers,” he glanced towards Brian’s laptop still resting on the small table. “Just us, and tons of sunscreen.”  
  
“So you want to go somewhere warm?” Brian asked.  
  
Justin thought about it for a moment. Los Angeles had been comfortably warm and Justin dreaded the weather in Pittsburgh. “I want to go somewhere where I don’t have to pack a bag full of clothes,” he finally answered.  
  
Brian jumped onto the idea. “We could celebrate Christmas on the beach.”  
  
Brian always tried to dodge a big family event; especially those related to major holidays.  
  
“Gus would be sad if we’re not there to see him open his presents,” Justin pointed out.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Brian replied guiltily. He hadn’t thought about that.  
  
“But maybe we could leave right after Christmas?” Justin suggested. “Mel and Linds are going back to Canada anyway. We can say adieu to the Pitts too and spend New Year’s on the beach.”  
  
“Count me in,” Brian agreed.  
  


<>>>><<<<>

  
Justin’s POV  
  
I hold the book up to my face, but more for sun cover than because of an intent to read it. I just can’t concentrate on the words. Even if I could, the sand is so white it’s blinding, even with sunglasses on. The sun is warm and there is a pleasant gentle breeze wafting over from the ocean, carrying the faint scent of salt water with it. I can do nothing more but relax, my mind shutting off completely which is a favorable side effect. It’s been three days. Three days of lying in the sun, doing absolutely nothing but fuck and eat. I never would have thought Brian was capable of doing nothing. He’s a textbook example of a workaholic. He not only works hard, he parties hard too. Seeing him lie beside me on the beach chaise lounge completely relaxed and comfortable, I realize I’ll have to add a new paragraph to the Kinney Operating Manual.  
  
When I suggested this trip I seriously doubted Brian would agree to it. I had alternative plans half-developed in the back of my mind for other sorts of vacations. Something more fun, that would require us to take part in some sports activity – we had yet to make it to that snowboarding trip. I thought something more adventurous would be more to Brian’s liking. But here we are: Bocas del Toro, the Caribbean shore of Panama and Brian had yet to utter a complaint. First I thought he was doing this for me. Wherever I go, he goes to. It goes the other way around too and it’s been like this ever since our reconciliation after my amnesia accident. He didn’t need to accompany me on every trip to LA I had to take. And I didn’t need to follow him to New York City and Chicago where he had started to reel in clients. But that’s how it’s been.  
  
We don’t go anywhere without each other and we don’t talk about it. Not because we’re in denial or something, but because we don’t need to. I think we both realize that we are probably living some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder symptom. Maybe. But here’s the thing: it works for us. I don’t want to be without Brian and I know he doesn’t want to be without me. If this is unhealthy, then we don’t care because we’re not suffering from it. If others think us crazy, then we don’t mind. It’s exactly like Brian told me once: We are good together. And we are. This is as much as we both need to know.  
  
When the sun gets too hot on my chest, I hold up a bottle of sun lotion in Brian’s direction and ask, “Do my back?”  
  
I roll over onto by belly and see him shake his head. “No,” he says. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he turns me down.  
  
“No?” I repeat irritably. “You  _won’t_  put sun lotion on my back?” I ask, just to make sure I heard him correctly.  
  
One eye opens and he looks at me sideways. “Exactly,” he answers. And his eyes close again, as if the discussion is over already.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because.”  
  
Now he’s being obtuse on purpose. “Brian, come on. I’m going to have a sunburn. Do my back.”  
  
“No,” Brian says again, this time more insistent. “You’ll get me all hot and hard and you won’t go back to the hotel with me afterwards to—” He looks around for listeners and even though the beach is private and the next chair is several feet away, he continues in a more subdued voice, “—to relieve the pressure.”  
  
I roll my eyes. He’s sulking like a child who can’t have his favorite toy right this second. “Because you’ll get me all sweaty and then I have to take a shower and we’re back at where we started,” I explain and try again, “Just do my back?”  
  
“Will you do me afterwards?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then I won’t do your back.”  
  
“Briiiiaaaaaan.” I’m a little annoyed.  
  
“Stop with the whiny voice.”  
  
“Stop being such a bitch.” This results in no reaction from him. He just continues to lay there, eyes closed again, ignoring me completely. I try a different tactic. “You like touching me, right?” I ask seductively.  
  
“Not if you don’t touch me back.” God, sometimes he can be as unrelenting as a rock.  
  
“No, I mean, you like touching me, in general, right?”  
  
He looks at me, eyebrow raised suspiciously. Good, at least I have his attention. “What’s your point?”  
  
“My point is, if you don’t put this lotion on my back in the next twenty seconds, I’m going to burn up and you won’t be able to touch me at all for at least a week.”  
  
He purses his lips, pretending to think. I’m counting silently. He actually makes it to eighteen (Motherfucker!) before he reaches for the bottle. I smile triumphantly and get comfortable. I hate sunscreen lotion – it’s greasy and sticky and can I just say  _Yuck!_ , but Brian’s fingers make it all worthwhile.  
  
He gets up and pushes his sunglasses onto his nose. I can’t help but admire his sun tanned muscles. There’s a very light sheen of sweat covering his torso. My mouth waters a little; the response to want to lick it from his body trained into my behavioral pattern long ago. Brian straddles my thighs, resting most of his weight on his knees that barely touch my sides. I hear the snap when he opens the bottle and the next second his palms spread across my back. They glide sensually up and down, slowly, almost reverently. Fucker! I know exactly what he’s trying to do. Too bad I can’t control my own reactions.  
  
The heat from his body above me and his hands on me is more intense than the sun could ever be. I feel the temperature rise at least a couple degrees and something – a very familiar something – stirs in my groin. Fuck! His fingers knead the muscles in my neck and shoulders, applying pressure one moment and gently stroking the next. Of his own accord, my mind conjures up pictures of Brian doing the same thing on another part of my anatomy. Double fuck! His palms leave my shoulders and glide down my upper arms and he uses the motion to bring his chest down, not quite touching my back but enough that I can feel him there. He inhales and exhales and I feel his breath wash over the nape of my neck. It’s delicious and a shower runs down my spine. He chuckles.  
  
“You okay?” he asks.  
  
I try to silently clear my throat so my voice wouldn’t sound so throaty and say, “Peachy.”  
  
I can practically feel him smirk. I try to think of something that will cool me down a little. But his heat, his scent, his voice make it difficult to focus on anything else. Meanwhile, his hands have reached my sides. His thumbs slip underneath the waistband of my swimsuit and begin to stroke the sensitive skin there. I’m so hard, I have to concentrate on what I’m doing, otherwise I’d start humping the chaise under me.  
  
He finishes his task and slaps my butt lightly. Before he gets up, his hips press into my ass and I can feel his erection poking me. Next moment he’s gone and I bite my lip to not groan out my frustration. He lowers himself onto his own chaise, shamelessly adjusting his hard-on that is so obvious in his tight black swimming trunks. I raise my head and look around us to see if someone noticed. Then I pick up a towel and throw it at him, getting up and trying to cover myself with my book as best and inconspicuously as possible.  
  
His eyebrows arch again, but this time in question. I motion for him to follow which he does, wisely saying nothing, though his face says it all.  
  
The table in our suite has to serve as a support when we finally reach our room and I am pushed onto my back. Brian uses the excesses of sun lotion on his hands to lube himself up. Tugging the elastic fabric aside, he pushes into me and my legs come up to wrap around his waist so naturally like they belong there. As Brian fucks the reality right out of my head, I think that maybe they do. Maybe Brian and I belong here; not in this place, but in this life. No matter who I am – or was – there has always been a constant in my life. And that constant is, unsurprisingly, Brian. Every person that I ever was, whether the obnoxious mooning teenager, the PTSD struck cripple, the hearts and flowers and all that romantic bullshit needing idiot, the political activist, the up-and-coming artist, the Justin that wasn’t – all of us, all versions of me always were in love with Brian. My love for him is a strong and constant current in this universe. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be; how  _we’re_  supposed to be: together. Maybe there’s a cosmic document that keeps track of us, that says that we needed to go through what we did to reach the point we’re at now. I like the idea that there’s a piece of paper somewhere out there that states that he is mine, and I am his.  
  
  


**\--THE END--**

 


End file.
